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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 



STORIES OF 
SHAKESPEARE'S TRAGEDIES 



Other Books by H. A. Guerber 



STORIES OF SHAKESPEARE'S COMEDIES. 

STORIES OF THE WAGNER OPERAS. 

STORIES OF FAMOUS OPERAS 

STORIES OF POPULAR OPERAS. 

LEGENDS OF SWITZERLAND. 

LEGENDS OF THE VIRGIN AND CHRIST. 

THE EMPRESSES OF FRANCE. 

HOW TO PREPARE FOR EUROPE. 

YOURSELF. MANUAL OF PHYSIOLOGY. 

MYTHS OF GREECE AND ROME. 

MYTHS OF NORTHERN LANDS. 

LEGENDS OF THE MIDDLE AGES. 

LEGENDS OF THE RHINE. 

STORY OF THE CHOSEN PEOPLE. 

STORY OF THE GREEKS. 

STORY OF THE ROMANS. 

STORY OF THE ENGLISH. 

STORY OF OLD FRANCE. 

STORY OF MODERN FRANCE. 

STORY OF THE THIRTEEN COLONIES. 

STORY OF THE GREAT REPUBLIC. 

CONTES ET LEGENDES. 

MARCHEN UND ERZAHLUNGEN. 

MARIE LOUISE ET LE DUC DE REICHSTADT. 

CUPID AND PSYCHE. FRENCH COMPOSITION. 

JOAN OF ARC. FRENCH COMPOSITION. 

THE PRISONERS OF THE TEMPLE. FRENCH 

COMPOSITION. 
EASY FRENCH COMPOSITION. 

To follow 

STORIES OF SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH HIS- 
TORY PLAYS. 



STORIES 



OF 



SHAKESPEARE'S TRAGEDIES 



BY 



H. AJ G 



GUERBER 

Author of 

"STORIES OF THE WAGNER OPERAS," 
u HOW TO PREPARE FOR EUROPE," ETC. 



With Illustrations 




NEW YORK 

DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 

19" 



^ 



*11 




Copyright, 191 1, by 
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 

Published September, 1911 
All Rights Reserved 






THE QUINN & BODEN CO. PRESS 
BAHWAY, N. J. 



©CI.A2D7114 



DEDICATED 

TO THE 

SHAKESPEARE SOCIETIES 

OF 

NYACK, N. Y. 



CONTENTS 

FAGE 

Macbeth i 

King Lear 28 

Othello . .59 

Hamlet, Prince of Denmark 92 

Romeo and Juliet 125 

Coriolanus 155 

Julius CLesar 183 

Antony and Cleopatra 210 

Titus Andronicus 247 

Timon of Athens 270 

Troilus and Cressida 296 

Pericles 323 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



Shakespeare and His Friends 
Macbeth and Banquo on the Heath 
Lear Banishes Kent 
Othello and Desdemona 
Hamlet and the Grave-Diggers 
Romeo and Juliet . 
Coriolanus Leaving Rome 
Mark Antony's Funeral Oration 
Festival at the Court of Cleopatra 
The Boy's Terror .... 
Timon Visited by Painter and Poet 
The Parting of Hector and An- 



dromache 
Marina in Danger 



Frontispiece <■■ 
Facing page 10 *■ 
32 </" 
68 
104 . 
140 , 
162 
188 } 
214 
250 
274 

300 
330 



STORIES 

OF 

SHAKESPEARE'S TRAGEDIES 
MACBETH 

t 

Act I. When the curtain rises we perceive a 
desert place, between the upper and under world, 
illuminated by weird lightning flashes, where three 
witches suddenly appearing, exchange greetings, and 
decide to meet Macbeth upon the heath, after the 
battle is over. Then they vanish, chanting the 
weird refrain, ' Fair is foul, and foul is fair ! ' 

In the next scene we behold the camp where the 
Scotch king, Duncan, eagerly questions a bloody 
messenger who announces his troops are fighting 
bravely, and that Macbeth in particular has done 
wonders, having conquered the worst of the rebels 
and fixed his head upon the battlements. Full of 
admiration for a feat which will assure his mastery 
in the realm, Duncan further learns with joy that 
the Norsemen, who recently made a descent upon 
his kingdom, are to be met by Banquo and Mac- 
beth, who long to annihilate them also. 

Scarcely has the messenger departed to attend to 
his wounds, when Ross comes in, reporting in his 



2 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

turn that the Norsemen are conquered, and all Dun- 
can's foes subdued, the rebel thane of Cawdor, who 
enticed them into the realm, being now a prisoner. 
After sentencing this wretch to death, Duncan bids 
Ross hasten to meet Macbeth, greeting him with the 
title of thane of Cawdor. 

We now see a blasted heath near this camp, 
where the three witches meet to report what they 
have done. From their conversation we gather 
that full of malice and evil thought, they are bent 
on working harm. They are just dancing in a 
weird way, when drum-beats herald the appearance 
of the two generals, who are on their way to rejoin 
the king. On perceiving the witches, — who lay 
skinny fingers upon their lips and appear like 
women, although disfigured by beards, — Macbeth 
bids them speak, only to be hailed by the first by 
name and present title, by the second as thane of 
Cawdor to be, and by the third as ' king hereafter ! - 

Seeing Macbeth — who cherishes great ambitions — 
start, Banquo enquires why he seems dismayed at 
prospects so fair, and playfully questions the witches 
in his turn, only to be greeted as ' lesser than Mac- 
beth, and greater ' ; ' not so happy, yet much hap- 
pier,' and as begetter of kings although no king 
himself. When Macbeth rejoins that the thane of 
Cawdor is still alive, and that he sees no prospect 
of ever being king, the three weird sisters vanish 
without speaking, and Banquo sagely concludes they 
were only 'earth bubbles,' which have vanished in 
thin air. But although he is rather inclined to think 
they have ' eaten of the insane root ' when Macbeth 



Macbeth 3 

reminds him his children are to be kings, Banquo 
good-naturedly rejoins the same spirits prophesied 
he should be thane of Cawdor and rule. *r 

Just then they encounter Ross and a companion, 
who inform Macbeth the king has learned his suc- 
cesses and appoints him thane of Cawdor. Startled 
by these words, Macbeth protests against being 
dressed in ' borrow'd robes,' until he is told that 
Cawdor is to die for having called the Norsemen 
into the country. As one part of the witches' 
prophecy has been so suddenly and unexpectedly 
fulfilled, Macbeth wonders whether the remainder 
may not come true, and asks Banquo in a whisper 
whether he doesn't hope his children shall be kings? 
To this Banquo rejoins that the fulfilment of the 
first part of the prophecy may be devised to mislead 
them, for ' the instruments of darkness tell us truths,' 
and ' win us with honest trifles,' only ' to betray 's in 
deepest consequence ! ' 

While Banquo engages in conversation with the 
two gentlemen, Macbeth broods upon the fact that 
two prophecies were uttered, and that the first being 
accomplished, he is justified in hoping the rest will 
come true. Still, the uncanny impression under 
which he labours causes his hair to rise on end 
and his heart to beat tumultuously. Noticing his 
abstraction, Banquo jocosely remarks his new hon- 
ours do not sit easily upon him, while Macbeth 
whispers that ' Come what come may, time and the 
hour runs through the roughest day.' But, when 
Banquo reminds him they are waiting for him to 
proceed to the king, he apologises for his absent- 



4 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

mindedness, and says they will now hasten on and 
discuss the night's events at some more opportune 
moment. 

We now behold the palace at Forres, where King 
Duncan is asking his sons whether Cawdor has been 
executed, and whether those sent to witness his 
death have returned? In reply, Prince Malcolm 
states they have not yet come back, but that a spec- 
tator reported nothing in Cawdor's ' life became 
him like the leaving it,' for he died full of repent- 
ance and beseeching the king's pardon. Commenting 
that ' there's no art to enable one to read a man's 
face,' and that there was no one he trusted more 
thoroughly than Cawdor, the king greets the enter- 
ing Macbeth as his ' worthiest cousin,' and assures 
him his deserts so far outstrip thanks, that ' more 
is thy due than more than all can pay.' 

With due modesty Macbeth replies it is his duty 
to do everything in his power for his king, while 
Duncan turns to greet Banquo, who deserves no 
less praise than his companion, and who is also 
warmly embraced, a distinction which greatly pleases 
him. Then the king announces that in honour of 
his eldest son's appointment as his successor, he in- 
tends to shower favours on all deservers, the chief 
of these being a visit to Macbeth at Inverness, 
whither the general proposes to hasten to announce 
the king's arrival to his wife. In spite of this new 
mark of favour, Macbeth's mind is so full of the 
witches' prediction, that he mutters two obstacles, — 
the monarch and his heir, — must now be removed if 
he is to become king. Bidding the stars hide their 



Macbeth '5 

fires so no light may reveal ' his black and deep 
desires,' Macbeth hurries away to apprise his wife 
of the king's coming, while Duncan graciously in- 
forms Banquo Macbeth is so very valiant, that * in 
his commendations I am fed,' adding that they must 
closely follow this ' peerless kinsman ' who is play- 
ing courier for them. 

We are now transferred to Macbeth's castle in 
Inverness, where Lady Macbeth reads aloud the 
letter wherein her husband reports his encounter 
with the witches and their prediction, which he bids 
her lay to heart. Musing over the contents of this 
missive, Lady Macbeth concludes that the first part 
having come true, the rest will follow suit, provided 
her husband's nature be not ' too full o' the milk 
of human kindness to catch the nearest way.' She 
knows that Macbeth is ambitious and would fain 
be king, but doubts his having sufficient strength of 
mind to frame his own fortunes, and longs for his 
coming so she can pour her spirit into his ear, and 
' chastise ' from him ' with the valour of her tongue,' 
all that impedes his obtaining the crown. 

Just then a messenger announces the king's ar- 
rival that very night, news which Lady Macbeth 
cannot credit, until the herald adds his master is 
following to confirm it. The messenger having re- 
tired, Lady Macbeth concludes Duncan has been 
sent hither so they can dispose of him, and bids evil 
spirits fill her ' from the crown to the toe, top-full 
of direst cruelty,' calling upon night to veil what 
they are about to do. 

Then, seeing Macbeth enter, she proudly greets 



6 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

him by his new title, and declares that his letters 
have transported her ' beyond this ignorant present,' 
making her feel ' the future in the instant.' 

After embracing his wife, and repeating that 
Duncan will be with them to-night, Macbeth, when 
she meaningly asks when the monarch will depart, 
innocently replies, ' to-morrow, as he purposes.' 
This answer, however, so little suits the ambitious 
lady, that she swears the sun shall never see that 
morrow, although she bids her husband welcome 
his guest without revealing by any sign the existence 
of plans which they will discuss later on, there being 
no time at present to do so. 

s In front of the same castle we next witness the 
arrival of the king, who graciously comments upon 
the pleasant site of Inverness, which Banquo notes 
is haunted by many birds. While they are talk- 
ing thus the hostess appears, and being cordially 
addressed by the king, assures him that all their 
services ' twice done and then done double ' would 
be inadequate to requite his majesty for all the 
honours he has conferred upon them. Graciously 
enquiring where the new thane of Cawdor may 
be, — whom he has followed so closely, — Duncan 
offers himself as guest to Lady Macbeth, who vows 
whatever is theirs is his, and accepting his hand 
leads him into the castle, where Macbeth awaits 
their arrival. 

We next behold a room in this castle after the 
banquet, where Macbeth, — while servants hasten to 
and fro, — muses upon the murder he and his wife 
have planned, declaring ' if it were done when 'tis 



Macbeth 7 

done, then 'twere well it were done quickly.' 
Stifling his conscience, he has determined to attack 
his helpless kinsman, monarch, and guest, a man so 
gentle it seems particularly heinous to strike him, 
especially as Macbeth has ' no spur to prick the 
sides ' of his ' intent, but only vaulting ambition.' 

While he is thus meditating, Lady Macbeth 
enters and he asks her how things are coming on? 
When she states that the king has finished supper 
and is asking for his host, Macbeth timorously ex- 
claims they won't proceed any further in this busi- 
ness. His ambitious wife, however, uses all her in- 
fluence to make him stick to his purpose, taunting 
him with cowardice for letting ' " I dare not " wait 
upon " I would," ' and insisting when he tries to 
silence her, that were she a man she would not give 
up so easily a resolve once taken. In fact, she de- 
clares that, although a loving mother, she would 
pluck the babe from her breast, had she vowed to do 
so, and when Macbeth dubiously suggests they might 
fail, cries out boldly, ( We fail ! But screw your 
courage to the sticking-place, and we'll not fail ! ' 

Then she adds that when Duncan is asleep they 
can easily perform the deed they have devised, fas- 
tening the guilt upon his servants, whom she intends 
to drug. Her strong and energetic words make 
Macbeth exclaim that she should be mother of sons 
only, ere he wonders whether others will believe 
that the grooms, — who are to be smeared with royal 
blood, — are the authors of the crime? Lady Mac- 
beth, however, feels certain none will deem other- 
wise on hearing their loud lament over the king's 



8 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

death. Thus urged to tread boldly along this evil 
path, Macbeth declares he is ready to carry out 
her suggestions, and leaves the room, saying he 
will ' mock the time with fairest show : false face 
must hide what the false heart doth know.' 

Act II. The second act opens in the court of 
Macbeth's castle, where Banquo and his son arrive 
at dawn, the father wondering what time it may be, 
and bidding his son be armed for he feels evil is 
brewing, and deems that merciful powers are keep- 
ing him wide awake. Hearing some one approach, 
Banquo draws his sword too, and recognising Mac- 
beth and a servant, wonders why his host has not 
gone to bed. He adds, however, that the king, 
having spent a pleasant evening, retired after be- 
stowing largesses upon all the inmates of the castle, 
and charging him to deliver a diamond to his hostess. 
When Macbeth tries to apologise for not entertain- 
ing the king better, Banquo remarks he has dreamt 
of the three weird sisters, part of whose predic- 
tion has so strangely come true. In return, Mac- 
beth vows he is not thinking of them, but intimates 
that on some more auspicious occasion, he will dis- 
cuss matters of moment with Banquo. Then he 
watches the lord and his son go off to their lodgings, 
and bids his servant retire, after notifying his mis- 
tress that he will join her as soon as she calls. 

Left alone with a mind full of the crime he is 
about to commit, Macbeth sees a dagger hovering in 
the air before him, and although aware it is only 
a delusion, talks to it as if it were a reality, until 
his wife's summons interrupt his awe-struck solilo- 



Macbeth 9 

quy. Then he hastens to join her, hoping her bell 
will not rouse Duncan, although he terms it the 
1 knell that summons ' him ' to heaven or to hell.' 

In the same room, a moment later, enters Lady 
Macbeth, averring the drink which made the serv- 
ants sleepy has made her bold. Listening intently 
to every sound, she is startled by the shriek of an 
owl, hears the bellman's call, and discerns the snores 
of various sleepers through the house. Then, Mac- 
beth's startled ' Who's there ? ' suddenly causes her 
to fear those in the king's chamber may have awak- 
ened before the deed is done. Still, she knows all 
is ready, and that her husband cannot have failed to 
find the daggers, for she laid them ready, and would 
have used them herself, had not the monarch re- 
sembled her father as he slept. It is at that moment 
Macbeth rejoins her, announcing the deed is done, 
and enquiring whether she did not hear some noise? 
In reply she states what she overheard, asking 
whether he did not speak coming down the stairs? 
As in a dream, Macbeth confesses he did, and noting 
the blood on his hands, gasps it is * a sorry sight ! ' 

Still, such is his state of over-excitement, that he 
marked everything on his way from the death- 
chamber, and seems most troubled because he could 
not respond ' Amen,' as usual, when one of the 
sleepers muttered, ' God bless us! ' His wife, how- 
ever, insists they must not dwell on such things 
lest they become mad, and when Macbeth avers he 
fancied he heard a voice cry, ' Sleep no more ! Mac- 
beth doth murder sleep,' she utterly refuses to listen 
to what she terms ' brainsickly things,' and sternly 



io Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

bids him wash his hands. Noticing, for the first 
time, that he has brought back the daggers which 
were to have been left beside the sleeping grooms, 
she bids him carry them back and smear the sleep- 
ers with blood, but Macbeth refuses to do so, under 
pretext he dares not look on what he has done. Full 
of scorn for such infirmity of purpose, and vowing 
that ' the sleeping and the dead are but as pic- 
tures,' Lady Macbeth seizes the daggers and goes 
off to finish the work herself. 

As she leaves the room, loud knocking causes Mac- 
beth to start and wonder whether ' all great Nep- 
tune's ocean ' can ever wash this blood from his 
hands? While he is still musing, Lady Macbeth 
returns, her hands red, too, but vowing she would 
be ashamed ' to wear a heart so white ' as his. 
When the knocking is repeated, she urges her hus- 
band to follow her to their chamber, to remove all 
traces of blood and don a nightgown, so that, if 
called, it will appear they were roused from slum- 
ber. While the knocking continues, they hurry out 
of the room together, Macbeth vainly wishing all 
this noise could awaken Duncan! 
*The porter, trying to answer the untimely sum- 
mons, mutters at the impudence of the knocker, and 
wonders who can call at such an hour? It is only 
after long fumbling, that he opens the right door 
and admits Macduff and Lennox, who ask why all 
are still abed? In reply the porter explains that, 
having feasted until late last night, they did not 
get to bed until morning. 

The visitors are just enquiring whether Macbeth 



Macbeth 1 1 

is stirring, when they see him coming from his 
chamber to ascertain the cause of all this noise. 
After greeting him, Macduff enquires whether King 
Duncan is awake, adding that he had orders to call 
him early, and wishes to obey. With courteous 
gesture Macbeth thereupon indicates the king's 
room, and while Macduff is absent, graciously con- 
verses with Lennox, who comments upon an un- 
usually blustery night. 

While they are discussing its various phenomena, 
Macduff rushes in, gasping, that ' tongue nor heart 
cannot conceive nor name ' what he has seen. Then, 
in reply to breathless questions from Macbeth and 
Lennox, he adds that ' murder hath broke ope the 
Lord's anointed temple,' a statement his hearers find 
difficult to understand, until Macduff, horror- 
struck, bids them go and see for themselves. Both 
hasten out of the room, while he rouses the castle 
by calling for the princes and Banquo and pealing 
the alarm-bell. 

In the midst of this clamour, Lady Macbeth 
comes out to discover what it means, and Macduff 
tells her it is impossible to describe it as ' the repeti- 
tion, in a woman's ear, would murder as it fell.' 

Then, seeing Banquo enter, he greets him with the 
wail that their worthy master is murdered ! While 
Lady Macbeth gasps, 'What, in our house? ' Banquo 
exclaims it is too cruel a deed to have happened any- 
where, and is vainly trying to make Macduff con- 
tradict himself, when Macbeth, Lennox, and Ross 
come in, the former exclaiming: ' Had I but died an 
hour before this chance.' 



12 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

The two princes now enter, and although Mac- 
beth informs them, in allegorical terms, of their 
father's death, Macduff has to add the brutal word 
1 murdered,' ere they can understand. Then, in reply 
to their bewildered questions, Lennox describes how 
the drunken grooms were found smeared with the 
king's blood, while Macbeth exclaims he repents hav- 
ing killed them, although he did so from love for 
Duncan and horror of the deed they had performed. 
This report causes Lady Macbeth to turn faint, 
and while attention centres upon her, the princes 
whisper they had better escape, as their own fate 
may be ' hid in an auger-hole,' and may rush out and 
seize them ! 

While Banquo suggests Lady Macbeth's removal, 
the other lords arrange a meeting to discuss what 
shall be done, and all leave the stage save the two 
young princes, who hastily decide to hurry away, one 
to England and the other to Ireland, their fortunes 
being safer separate now that there are ' daggers in 
men's smiles.' Without any leave-taking, therefore, 
both depart, little dreaming of the suspicions to 
which their hasty flight may give rise. 

Just outside of Macbeth's castle, Ross encounters 
an old man, who tells him that although above 
seventy years of age he cannot remember another 
such night. Both he and Ross are troubled by un- 
usual occurrences, which they are discussing when 
Macduff appears. When Ross eagerly asks whether 
it has been ascertained who did the bloody deed, 
Macduff confidently rejoins ' the men Macbeth hath 
slain,' adding that they were probably bribed by 



Macbeth 13 

the king's sons, who have fled. Because of this flight 
and of these suspicions, the thanes have elected Mac- 
beth to be next king, and he has already set out for 
Scone, leaving Duncan to be interred in his ances- 
tral vault. Instead of attending the coronation, 
Macduff proposes to hasten to Fife, while Ross de- 
parts for Scone, the old man blessing them both. 

Act III. The third act opens in the palace at 
Forres, where Banquo exclaims the prediction has 
been fulfilled in Macbeth's case, and wonders 
whether he himself is to be ' root and father of many- 
kings?' While he is musing on this subject, enter 
Macbeth and his wife, attired as king and queen, 
attended by lords and ladies. After greeting Ban- 
quo with great courtesy, they invite him as chief 
guest to supper, a meal he promises to attend without 
fail, although when Macbeth courteously enquires 
how he intends to spend the interval, Banquo re- 
joins he is riding so far that he will have to go fast 
to get back before night. With an enquiry whether 
his son accompanies him, and a gracious reminder 
not to miss the banquet, Macbeth dismisses Banquo, 
and, addressing the rest, informs them that his 
* bloody cousins ' are now in England and in Ire- 
land, where, instead of confessing their crime, they 
are filling ' their hearers with strange invention.' 
Still, these matters are to be discussed in council 
on the morrow, so the royal couple dismiss court 
until seven, when the banquet is to take place. 

All the rest having left the stage, Macbeth eagerly 
asks an attendant whether those he called for are 
awaiting his pleasure? While this servant goes out 



14 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

to summon men waiting at the palace gate, Macbeth 
mutters that his present haunting fear is Banquo, 
hailed by the weird sisters as father of a line of 
kings! So that his crime may not have been com- 
mitted for the benefit of Banquo's posterity, Mac- 
beth makes up his mind to slay both father and 
son. 

Two men are now ushered in, and Macbeth, hav- 
ing dismissed his attendant, enquires whether they 
have considered his offer, and are ready to under- 
take what he requires? He avers that although 
Banquo could be tried and publicly executed, secrecy 
seems preferable, and both men expressing readiness 
to obey him, gives directions for intercepting and 
slaying father and son on their return from their 
ride. The murderers having gone, Macbeth grimly 
cries, ' Banquo, thy soul's flight, if it find heaven, 
must find it out to-night ! ' and leaves the hall. 

In another room in the palace, Lady Macbeth is 
questioning a servant, who reports that although 
Banquo has gone out, he is to return toward night. 
Hearing this, she bids the king be informed she 
wishes to speak to him, and while the servant goes 
out to summon him, declares that, ' Nought's had, 
all's spent, where our desire is got without content.' 
When Macbeth comes in, she insists upon knowing 
why he stays alone, brooding on things it would 
be better to forget, and when he mutters that they 
have merely ' scotched the snake, not killed it,' — 
for although Duncan ' after life's fitful fever sleeps 
well ' Banquo and his son are still a living menace, 
— she gradually perceives he wishes to dispose of both 



Macbeth 15 

these men, although he tries to keep her ignorant of 
his plans. 

In a park near the palace, we next see the mur- 
derers concealed, watching for the return of Banquo 
and his son. They are greatly surprised, however, 
to be joined by a third, also sent by Macbeth, 
and a few moments later all three discern the 
sounds of approaching horses, and hear Banquo's 
voice clamouring for a light, because he has dis- 
mounted to finish the journey on foot as usual. Be- 
fore long, Banquo and his son appear, carrying a 
torch, and the three murderers pounce upon them, so 
concentrating all their efforts upon the father that 
they allow the son to escape. Although dismayed at 
this partial failure of their undertaking, all three 
hasten off to report what they have done. 

The curtain next rises upon the banquet-hall, 
where Macbeth invites the thanes to be seated, de- 
claring that, while his wife maintains regal state 
under the dais, he will mingle with his guests. Lady 
Macbeth has just uttered her gracious welcome, 
when one of the murderers appears in the doorway, 
which Macbeth gradually approaches, muttering 
' there's blood upon thy face.' Hearing this, the 
murderer rejoins it is that of the slain Banquo, 
whose son has escaped, news which appals Macbeth, 
who dismisses the murderer only when his wife urges 
him to give the signal for festivities to begin. 

Returning to his guests, Macbeth bids ' good diges- 
tion wait on appetite, and health on both! ' ere he 
looks around for an empty seat. Meantime, the 
murdered man's ghost has entered the hall and has 



1 6 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

taken his place, and just as Macbeth cries he wishes 
Banquo were present, he suddenly perceives this 
spectre and stares so fixedly at it that his guests, — 
who see naught but an empty seat, — wonder what 
is the matter with him. Without heeding their 
amazement, Macbeth addresses this spectre so wildly 
that the guests deem him ill, although Lady Macbeth 
vows he is often taken in this way, but soon recovers 
if let alone. 

Seizing her husband's arm, she then bids him, in 
a whisper, control himself, vowing it is only the same 
sort of delusion as the ' air-drawn dagger,' and trying 
to shame him into more rational behaviour. But, 
in spite of all she can say and do, Macbeth is too 
horrified to regain full control of his senses until the 
ghost vanishes. 

Then, still urged by Lady Macbeth, he tries to 
rekindle the festive mood by proposing the health of 
the absent Banquo, but even as he does so, the ghost 
reappears. When Macbeth addresses it, the guests 
betray such amazement that Lady Macbeth finally 
deems it best to dismiss them, saying her husband 
is subject to such attacks, and that they had better 
depart without standing ' upon the order ' of their 
going. 

Left alone upon the scene with his wife, Mac- 
beth avers the spirit has come to demand blood, and 
wonders why Macduff has not appeared although in- 
vited? Then, shaken by the apparition, he confides 
to Lady Macbeth he is so suspicious of the thanes 
that he has placed spies in every castle. Besides, he 
means to consult the weird sisters on the morrow 



Macbeth 17 

in regard to what he has just seen, a delusion he 
attributes to the fact that he is still ' but young in 
deed.' 

In the next scene the three witches meet Hecate, 
goddess of Hell, who chides them for having under- 
taken charms without her permission, and bids them 
prepare to meet Macbeth again, while she goes in 
quest of a drop which hangs ' upon the corner of 
the moon,' and which is of great potency in magic 
arts. When weird music is heard Hecate vanishes, 
and the witches hurry off to fulfil her orders as the 
curtain falls. 

In the palace we next overhear a conversation be- 
tween Lennox and another lord, the former stating 
that things look strange, for although Macbeth pitied 
Duncan, this king died, and ' Banquo walk'd too 
late.' He knows that Fleance, Malcolm, and Donal- 
bain have fled, but rightly concludes they are not to 
blame for the deaths of their fathers, and enquires 
what has become of them. His companion rejoins 
that Malcolm is now living at the court of Ed- 
ward the Confessor, where he is held in too high 
esteem to be considered guilty. Besides, Edward is 
planning to aid him and the Norsemen to recover 
possession of the Scotch throne, so Macbeth is get- 
ting ready to oppose them. His summons to Mac- 
duff for aid have, however, been met by this loyal 
gentleman's absolute refusal, which has kindled such 
wrath that Lennox hopes he will escape to England 
and that a blessing may soon return to his suffering 
country, ere he departs with his companion. 

Act IV. The fourth act opens in the witches' 



1 8 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

cave, where a huge cauldron is boiling, into which 
they cast in turn every evil and noisome thing they 
have been able to collect, while dancing around the 
pot and singing their refrain, ' Double, double toil 
and trouble; fire burn, and cauldron bubble/ When 
their loathsome potion is almost ready, they cool it 
with baboon's blood, just as the goddess of Hades 
enters to join in their mystic dance. After she has 
withdrawn, the second witch mutters, ' By the 
pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way 
comes,' as Macbeth's knock resounds. Entering into 
the witches' cave, he greets the 'midnight hags,' 
conjuring them at any risk to make use of their 
black arts to answer his questions. Expressing readi- 
ness to do so, they continue their brew, throwing 
into it more hideous ingredients, after which, amid 
the rumble of thunder, an armed head suddenly 
appears, which cautions Macbeth to beware of the 
thane of Fife, ere it descends again into the pit 
from whence it came. Thanking the apparition for 
this warning, Macbeth, amid renewed thunder, next 
beholds a bloody child, who bids him ' be bloody, 
bold, and resolute,' and declares that ' none of 
woman born shall harm ' him, ere it vanishes, too. 
Hearing this, Macbeth exultantly cries he will not 
fear what Macduff can do, just as a third appari- 
tion, also heralded by thunder, greets his aston- 
ished glance. This time, it is a crowned child, 
bearing a tree, who tells him ' Macbeth shall never 
vanquish'd be until great Birnam wood to high Dun- 
sinane hill shall come against him.' 

This vision having vanished like the rest, Macbeth 



Macbeth 19 

concludes he can never be conquered, since forests do 
not. move from one place to another. Nevertheless, 
he is still so eager to know whether his posterity 
or Banquo's shall reign over the kingdom, that al- 
though the witches bid him be satisfied with what he 
has learned, he threatens to curse them unless they 
gratify him fully. Amid music the cauldron dis- 
appears, and eight kings gradually arise, the last 
holding a glass, wherein Macbeth beholds a suc- 
cession of many more to follow him. The resem- 
blance of these monarchs to Banquo, who, blood- 
stained, appears before him and proudly points to 
them, causes Macbeth unspeakable horror. When 
these apparitions have disappeared, the witches dance 
around him and vanish in thin air, while Macbeth 
mutters this pernicious hour will ever stand ' ac- 
cursed in the calendar.' His cries finally attract 
Lennox, from whom he breathlessly enquires whether 
he saw the witches? Learning they did not pass by 
him, Macbeth curses them, and demands who has 
just arrived, the noise of galloping horses having 
struck his ear. Then Lennox informs him mes- 
sengers have come in haste to warn him that Mac- 
duff has fled to England, news which causes Mac- 
beth to regret he did not carry out his first intention 
and slay this lord. In his wrath, he swears that 
' from this moment the very firstlings of my heart 
shall be the firstlings of my hand,' and decides to 
surprise Macduff's castle and slay his wife and 
babes, ' before this purpose cool.' 

The curtain next rises in Macduff's castle, where 
his wife, talking to Ross, questions what her husband 



20 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

can have done to make him flee from Scotland? 
Unwilling to enlighten her, Ross tries to quiet her 
apprehensions, until she hotly declares it was cow- 
ardly in a father to leave his family exposed to 
perils before which he fled. When Ross departs 
to avoid further questions, Lady Macduff enquires 
of her boy how he will live without a father, the 
child's innocent questions and answers forming a 
large part of a most touching scene. They are still 
talking, when a messenger enters to warn Lady 
Macduff danger is approaching, and advise her to 
flee. As he vanishes immediately after giving this 
advice, the lady wonders what it means, but ere she 
can act upon it, murderers enter, stab her son before 
her eyes, and pursue her as she flees shrieking off the 
stage. 

We are now transported to England, where Mac- 
duff has come to seek Prince Malcolm, who sug- 
gests they retire to some secluded spot where they 
can pour out their hearts undisturbed. Fearing 
lest Macduff may be a spy sent out by Macbeth, 
Malcolm dares not at first open his heart to his 
companion; instead he enquires if things are really 
as bad as he stated why he left wife and children ex- 
posed to all the dangers from whence he has escaped ? 
Perceiving at last that Malcolm takes him for a 
spy, Macduff exclaims : ' I would not be the villain 
that thou think'st for the whole space that's in the 
tyrant's grasp, and the rich East to boot,' and is 
about to depart in anger, when the prince entreats 
him to stay a while longer. Then he confides to 
Macduff that England offers to help him regain his 



Macbeth 2 1 

throne, but that he feels unfit to wear the crown. 
When Macduff exclaims, ' not in the legions of 
horrid hell can come a devil more damn'd in evils to 
top Macbeth,' the prince accuses himself of bound- 
less lust, intemperance, avarice, etc., in such terms 
that when he asks Macduff whether such a man is 
fit to govern, this nobleman indignantly pronounces 
such a monster unfit to live! 

While Macduff is mourning over Scotland's pros- 
pects, Malcolm suddenly reveals to him that all he 
has said was merely devised to test his virtue, and 
that instead of being the vicious monster he claimed, 
he is diligently trying to cultivate all the virtues. 
He then adds he has already made plans with the 
Norsemen, who erelong will march toward Scot- 
land to take up this * warranted quarrel,' tidings 
which seem to Macduff almost too good to be true. 

A doctor now joins them, and in reply to Mac- 
duff's questions, describes how King Edward is 
touching for ' the king's evil,' a strange virtue which 
Malcolm declares speaks ' him full of grace.' The 
physician gone, the Scotchmen are joined by Ross, 
from whom Macduff eagerly asks news of Scotland, 
his wife and family. Wishing to prepare him for 
the awful tidings he is bringing, Ross gradually 
reveals how he saw a power afoot, and Scotland in 
such straits that even women would fight in its be- 
half. When Macduff assures him England is going 
to lend forces to Malcolm, with which they are 
about to invade Scotland, Ross cautiously reveals 
how his castle has been surprised, and his wife and 
children slaughtered, — tidings which have to be re- 



22 Stories of Shakespeare 1 's Tragedies 

peated sundry times, ere Macduff can fully grasp 
them. Heart-broken to think they were struck down 
on his account, Macduff seems ready to sink beneath 
his grief, until Malcolm urges him to convert sor* 
row into anger and avenge upon Macbeth the mur- 
der of his race, a duty he becomes eager to perform. 

Act V. The fifth act opens at Dunsinane, in an 
anteroom of the castle, where a physician, talking 
to Lady Macbeth's maid, declares that after watch- 
ing with her two nights, he sees naught to confirm 
her report. The gentlewoman, however, assures 
him Lady Macbeth has often risen from her bed 
of late, and has written letters when fast asleep, a 
state of nervous tension which the physician states 
denotes ' a great perturbation in nature.' When he 
enquires what words Lady Macbeth has uttered 
while sleep-walking, the maid refuses to repeat 
them, just as the door opens and the patient appears, 
holding a taper by whose light they can perceive she 
is fast asleep, although her eyes are open. When 
the physician enquires how she obtained a lighted 
candle, the maid assures him one burns constantly by 
her bedside, as she refuses to remain all alone in 
the dark. 

The two drawing aside to watch the patient, see 
her rub her hands, and hear her mutter, ' Yet here's 
a spot.' While the physician rapidly notes what she 
says so as to satisfy his ' remembrance the more 
strongly,' Lady Macbeth mutters, ' Out, damned 
spot! ' whispers ' 'tis time to do it,' urges her hus- 
band not to be afraid, marvels that an old man 
should have so much blood in him, asks where Mac- 



Macbeth 23 

duff's wife is now, and declares her husband will 
mar all by starting. This makes the doctor shud- 
deringly conclude she has known what she should 
not, while her gentlewoman moans she has said words 
that should never have passed her lips. While they are 
thus whispering, Lady Macbeth wails that ' all the 
perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten ' her little hand, 
sighing so heavily that the doctor admits her disease 
is beyond his practice, although sleep-walkers have 
been known to die ' holily in their beds.' Just then 
Lady Macbeth cries, ' Wash your hands ; put on your 
nightgown; look not so pale. — I tell you yet again, 
Banquo's buried; he cannot come out on's grave.' 
Then, with a flurried, ' To bed, to bed ! there's 
knocking at the gate,' she darts back into her sleep- 
ing-room, where her maid assures the doctor she will 
now lie quiet for a while. After urging her to 
watch Lady Macbeth closely, the doctor departs, 
pronouncing his patient needs the divine more than 
the physician, for he dares not express openly all he 
suspects. 

In the neighbourhood of Dunsinane castle Scottish 
soldiers have encamped to await the arrival of Mal- 
colm, Siward, . Macduff, and their forces, who are 
to join them to effect their revenge. Meantime, 
they remark that Macbeth has strongly fortified 
Dunsinane, and that those who hate him opine 
he is mad, while others term his queer actions valiant 
fury. When one of the generals adds that ' those 
he commands move only in command, nothing in 
love,' and that the kingly title hangs loose about 
him, ' like a giant's robe upon a dwarfish thief,' all 



24 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

exclaim they are ready to march on and do their 
^ duty by purging their country of a tyrant. 

\£ > fv In a room in Dunsinane castle, Macbeth ex- 
^ claims he wishes to hear no more reports, and that 
until Birnam wood remove to Dunsinane, he will 
fear nothing, for Malcolm, being born of woman, 
cannot hurt him. Because a servant comes in with 
white face he reviles him, hardly listening to his 
report that ten thousand English soldiers are draw- 
ing near. But, when this man has gone, Macbeth 
admits he is sick at heart, has lived long enough, and 
that his ' way of life is fall'n into the sear, the 
yellow leaf,' because instead of all that should accom- 
pany old age, such as ' honour, love, obedience, 
troops of friends,' he can expect nothing but curses. 

A second messenger now confirms the bad news, 
and while calling for his armour and issuing orders, 
Macbeth enquires of the physician how his patient 
is doing? The doctor rejoins that Lady Macbeth 
is not sick, but troubled with ' thick-coming fancies 
that keep her from her rest/ and when Macbeth 
^otly demands whether he cannot * minister to a 
mind diseased,' assures him in such cases a 'patient 
must minister to himself.' Unable to tarry longer 
with him, Macbeth hurries away, exclaiming that 
many of the thanes are falling from him, but that 
nothing will daunt him, till ' Birnam forest come 
to Dunsinane.' The doctor, however, mutters that 
were he only clear away from Dunsinane, ' profit 
again should hardly draw me here ! ' 

The curtain now rises near Birnam wood, where 
Malcolm and his forces have arrived, and where the 



Macbeth 25 

prince significantly hopes the days are near at hand 
when chambers will be safe. Then, hearing the 
name of the forest, he directs each soldier to cut 
down a leafy bough and bear it before him, for he 
proposes thus to ' shadow the numbers of their host,' 
until they are close upon Macbeth, whom the Norse- 
man Siward describes as ready to resist them at 
Dunsinane. 

The curtain next rises upon Dunsinane castle, 
where Macbeth is bidding his men hang out his 
banners, assuring them that the castle is strong 
enough to resist a long siege. Just then women's 
cries resound, so Macbeth nervously wonders what 
they mean and sends one of his men to ascertain. 
Left alone, he boasts he has ' almost forgot the 
taste of fears,' having supped so full of horrors that 
nothing can startle him any more. When the mes- 
senger returns, he eagerly asks the cause of the 
clamour, only to learn that Lady Macbeth has 
passed away. Exclaiming that ' she should have 
died hereafter,' Macbeth adds, ' life's but a walk- 
ing shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his 
hour upon the stage and then is heard no more,' be- 
fore a messenger breathlessly reports that from the 
hilltop he beheld what seemed a forest moving in 
the direction of Dunsinane! 

Calling him ' liar and slave,' Macbeth fiercely 
silences him, vowing if he has spoken falsely he 
shall hang alive on the next tree, but adding that 
if he has told the truth he does not care if the same 
is done to him! Then, after another mention of 
the witches' prediction, he cries he is weary of the 



26 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

sun, and wishes ' the estate o' the world were now 
undone/ ere he bids the alarm-bell be rung and vows 
they will at least ' die with harness on our back.' 

Before the castle of Dunsinane Malcolm arrives 
with his men, bidding them throw aside their leafy 
screens and show themselves ' like those you are.' 
Then he awards positions to Macduff and Siward, 
and orders his trumpets blown as ' harbingers of 
blood and death.' 

The next scene is played on the battle-field, where 
Macbeth roars he is tied to a stake and cannot flee, 
but feels renewed confidence whenever he remembers 
he is not to fear any man born of woman. When 
young Siward appears, he boldly names himself, and 
after killing the youth proclaims it's evident that 
antagonist had a mother. While Macbeth plunges 
back into the fray, Macduff comes in quest of him, 
imploring Fortune to let him avenge the death of his 
wife and children and he will ask nothing more at its 
hands. When he, too, has gone, Malcolm and old 
Siward appear, announcing the castle has surren- 
dered, and the day is almost won! 

As they enter the castle, the curtain falls, only to 
rise on another part of the battle-field, where Mac- 
beth wonders why he should play the ' Roman fool ' 
and die on his own sword, when he can use it against 
the foe. Just then Macduff appears, and although 
Macbeth confesses he has avoided him, — his soul 
being already too much charged with the blood of 
his race, — Macduff insists upon their fighting a 
duel. While they are thus engaged, Macbeth boasts 
he bears a charmed life, ' which must not yield to 



Macbeth 27 

one of woman born,' until Macduff rejoins that 
owing to extraordinary circumstances attending his 
birth, it has always been claimed he did not come 
into the world in the usual way! Hearing this, Mac- 
beth refuses to fight, but Macduff pursues him, and 
they pass off the stage fighting, Macbeth wildly 
crying, ' Lay on, Macduff, and damn'd be him that 
first cries " Hold, enough! " ' 

Amid trumpet-calls, with drums beating and 
colours flying, Malcolm now marches on the scene, 
demanding what has become of Macduff and Si- 
ward's son? When Ross reports that young Siward 
has ' paid a soldier's debt,' his father, hearing all his 
wounds were in front, gives thanks publicly, declar- 
ing ' had I as many sons as I have hairs, I would 
not wish them to a fairer death.' 

A moment later Macduff enters carrying Mac- 
beth's head, and greets Malcolm, King of Scotland — 
a cry echoed by all present. Thus raised to his an- 
cestral throne, Malcolm names all his thanes earls, — 
a title hitherto unknown in Scotland, — promises to 
recall those who have been exiled, bids a contemptu- 
ous farewell to ' this dead butcher and his fiend-like 
queen,' declares that ' by the grace of Grace,' he 
will be a good king to Scotland, and invites all pres- 
ent to his coronation at Scone. 



KING LEAR 

Act I. The first act opens in the British palace, 
where the Earl of Kent, after expressing surprise 
that the king should favour equally both sons-in- 
law, is introduced to Gloucester's illegitimate son 
Edmund. The conversation between these three 
men is interrupted by the appearance of the royal 
party, when King Lear appoints Gloucester to at- 
tend the Lords of France and Burgundy. While this 
nobleman goes out with his son, Lear calls for a map, 
on which his realm is divided into three parts, and 
announces that, wishing to crawl ' unburthen'd to- 
ward death,' he has decided to award to each of his 
daughters a share of his realm, reserving the 
choicest division for the one who loves him best. 

Then, addressing the eldest, Goneril, wife of the 
Duke of Albany, he bids her speak first, and listens 
with pleased vanity while she gushingly declares 
that all powers of speech fail to express the extent of 
her great love. On hearing these extravagant pro- 
fessions, Cordelia, the youngest daughter, — feeling 
naught can really express her greater affection, — 
murmurs in an aside that she will have to ' love, and 
be silent.' Gratified by Goneril's fluent public testi- 
mony, Lear graciously bestows upon her and her 
husband one-third of his realm, ere turning to his 
second daughter, Regan, wife of the Duke of Corn- 

28 



King Lear 29 

wall, he invites her to speak in her turn. With equal 
volubility, and even greater exaggeration of phrase, 
Regan asserts she feels no joy in anything save her 
father's love, whereupon Cordelia whispers to her- 
self that her ' love's more ponderous than her 
tongue.' In an outburst of paternal pride, King 
Lear bestows upon Regan a portion fully equal to 
that of her elder sister, and, then turning to Cor- 
delia, his favourite, — for whom the Lords of France 
and Burgundy are both suing, — he clearly intimates 
that he expects more from her than from her sisters, 
by asking what she can say to draw a still more 
opulent third ? Repelled by so sordid a view of the 
affair, the disinterested Cordelia has nothing to say, 
whereupon her disappointed father angrily warns 
her that * nothing will come of nothing.' When 
she calmly states she loves him as far as duty com- 
mands, he urges her to mend her * speech a little 
lest it mar' her fortunes, a time-serving con- 
sideration her noble nature scorns. Hoping, how- 
ever, to prove her position just, Cordelia explains 
that although she loves and honours her father as a 
daughter should, one-half of her love and duty will 
belong to her husband when she marries. 

Thus defrauded of the adulation he expected 
from his favourite, Lear angrily disowns Cordelia 
as an unnatural daughter, and in spite of the Earl 
of Kent's well-meant attempts to dissuade him, says 
the Lords of France and Burgundy can take her 
portionless if they will, and divides the lands in- 
tended for her between her two sisters. Then he 
proclaims he will live alternately a month at a time 



30 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

with each of these daughters, retaining only the 
title and pomp of a king, together with a retinue 
of one hundred knights. 

On hearing Lear thus rashly despoil himself of 
all power, the faithful Kent again ventures to inter- 
fere. Under plea that it behooves him to be unman- 
nerly since Lear is mad, he assures his master that 
Cordelia does not love him less than her sisters, and 
warns him that the protestations of his elder daugh- 
ters are false. Irritated by this protest, yet unable 
to silence Kent otherwise, the king is about to draw 
his sword, when his sons-in-law interfere. Balked 
in this purpose, the angry monarch now banishes 
Kent, setting a price upon his head ! With a fidelity 
unshaken by such injustice, Kent departs, piously 
commending Cordelia to the gods, imploring the 
two other princesses to prove their ' large speeches ' 
by their deeds, and bravely declaring he will ' shape 
his old course in a country new.' 

It is while Kent passes out, that Gloucester ushers 
in the Lords of France and Burgundy, whom Lear 
now addresses, stating they may have the hand of his 
youngest daughter, without dowry, and pieced out 
with his displeasure. Unable to account for so sud- 
den a change in Lear's mood, the pretenders hesi- 
tatingly remark a daughter must be guilty of great 
crimes to be thus disowned by her father, where- 
upon Cordelia summons Lear to explain to her 
suitors the cause of his wrath. On hearing his 
explanation, Burgundy expresses readiness to over- 
look all the rest, provided a suitable dowry be 
bestowed with the princess, but sorrowfully with- 



King Lear 31 

draws his proposals when it is refused. The other 
suitor, however, with truer affection, deems Cor- 
delia ' most rich, being poor,' for he offers her his 
hand, assuring her she loses ' here, a better where 
to find.' 

Having thus disposed of his youngest daughter 
without grace, love, or benison, Lear leaves the 
stage, while the King of France urges his bride to 
take leave of her sisters. Grimly, Cordelia does so, 
ironically terming them ' jewels of our father,' and 
bidding them make good their extravagant profes- 
sions. These doubts call forth sarcastic rejoinders 
from her sisters, but when she has gone with the 
King of France, Goneril and Regan freely com- 
ment upon Lear's behaviour, which denotes the 
' infirmity of his age,' and foreseeing that ' such 
unconstant starts,' as Kent's banishment, may fre- 
quently occur, propose to meet so as to agree upon 
some plan whereby they can deprive him of all 
authority. 

In the Earl of Gloucester's castle we next be- 
hold his illegitimate son Edmund, holding a letter, 
and overhear him express sentiments which plainly 
reveal the baseness of his character, and show he is 
weaving vile plots to supplant his elder brother. 
When his parent joins him, therefore, announcing 
Kent's banishment and the king's abandonment of 
all his power, Edmund so ostentatiously secretes his 
letter, that his father enquires what it is? The 
evasive answers he receives determine Gloucester 
to read this missive, which Edmund falsely assures 
him was penned by Edgar to test his virtue. On 



32 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

glancing at it, Gloucester sees his eldest son con- 
siders he has lived too long, is plotting to put him 
out of the way, and bespeaks Edmund's aid. Hor- 
rified by proposals which seem doubly perfidious 
when Edmund assures him the missive was secretly 
cast into his room, Gloucester, whose wrath increases 
as his younger son apparently tries to mitigate it, 
declares such unnatural sentiments can only be due 
to the effect of adverse planets! 

When he leaves the apartment, after making this 
statement, Edmund mocks his delusions, until Edgar 
comes in enquiring why he is plunged in such serious 
thought? After premising that all signs point to 
evil, Edmund enquires when Edgar last saw his 
father, and on what terms they parted, adding that 
he has offended Gloucester so seriously that he had 
better avoid his presence. Touched by brotherly 
solicitude, — which he considers genuine, — Edgar 
consents to take refuge in Edmund's apartment, 
trusting to his good offices, meanwhile, to soothe 
the parental anger, in regard to which a clear con- 
science leaves him utterly at a loss. When he has 
thus gone, Edmund gloats over his success so far, and 
hopes his villainous plot may result in his supplanting 
his noble brother! 

We next behold the Duke of Albany's palace, 
where Goneril is questioning her steward in regard 
to trouble between her own and her father's serv- 
ants. Before long she exclaims that the present 
state of affairs is intolerable, that she refuses to 
see her father on his return from the hunt, and that 
her servants will please her best by neglecting King 




Ad Schmitz 



LEAR BANISHES KENT 



Lear. "O, vassal! miscreant! 

i~,>,„ i- Dear sir, forbear 
Corn. ( ' 

Kent Do; 

Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow 
Upon thy foul disease." 



King Lear. Act i, Scene i 



King hear 33 

Lear, who can betake himself to her sister's if dis- 
satisfied. 

As horns announce the return of the hunters, 
Goneril disappears, just as Kent enters her hall, 
dressed like a beggar, yet muttering that if he can 
only disguise his voice, he may yet be able to serve 
the master who banished him ! His entrance is soon 
followed by that of Lear, who first calls for dinner, 
and then enquires what the beggar wishes? After 
giving a false name, Kent humbly offers to serve 
the aged monarch; who, pleased with his answers, 
enrols him among his followers, ere he repeats his 
demand for his dinner and his Fool. Goneril's 
steward, whom Lear addresses, now proves so dis- 
respectful, that the king, who has been trying not 
to see how sorely he is neglected, can no longer 
overlook his rudeness. Instead of listening to the 
strictures of his knights, he again calls for his 
Fool, until one of his own men rejoins that the poor 
fellow has been pining since Cordelia's departure. 
Hearing this, Lear insists upon his immediate pres- 
ence, and expresses a wish to see Goneril, a re- 
quest the passing steward receives with such im- 
pudence, that Lear strikes him and the beggar trips 
him up, a deed of valour his new master approves 
and rewards. 

The Fool, entering at this moment, gravely ten- 
ders his cap and bells to the disguised Kent, whom 
he terms an idiot for taking the part of a man 
who has nothing further to bestow, and who is de- 
pendent upon two cruel daughters! Questioned by 
his master, the Jester returns wisely foolish an- 



34 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

swers, interspersed with fragments of song and 
proverbs, in which are embedded many precious bits 
of truth, as Kent and the king can readily see. In 
a riddle, he also clearly exhibits Lear's folly in 
despoiling himself before death and making his 
daughters his masters! It is during this conversa- 
tion between Lear and his Jester that Goneril enters, 
frowning portentously, although the Fool assures 
Lear, when he reproves her, that she will not heed 
his strictures since he has nothing more to give her. 
Because these remarks are too pertinent to prove 
palatable, Goneril vehemently reproaches her father 
for keeping such men in his train, and insists that his 
attendants continually ' carp and quarrel.' While 
Lear cannot understand how a child of his can ad- 
dress him in such a tone, the Fool bravely tries to 
divert Goneril's anger upon his own head; but she 
roundly declares her father must diminish his train, 
retaining only such men ' as may besort ' his age. 

Beside himself with rage and injured parental 
feelings, Lear, remembering he has another daugh- 
ter, loudly calls for his horses, while Goneril con- 
tinues finding fault with him until her husband 
comes in. Tremulously enquiring whether it is by 
Albany's consent he is treated thus, yet receiving no 
immediate answer, Lear denounces Goneril for in- 
gratitude, and vows Cordelia's fault seems naught 
beside hers. Then he vehemently curses his eldest 
daughter, hoping her children, — should she ever have 
any, — will teach her to ' feel how sharper than a 
serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child ! ' 

Lear, having gone out in a frenzy of grief, Albany 



King Lear 35 

enquires what all this means, only to be contemptu- 
ously informed that Lear is in his dotage! Passing 
through this hall again, Lear, still brooding over 
Goneril's advice to diminish his train, mutters in 
regard to it, when Albany again demands what is 
the matter? Unable to restrain his tears, — although 
he reviles them for falling, — Lear declares he is 
going to his other daughter, in whose affection he 
trusts so implicitly that he threatens Goneril with 
her vengeance. When he has gone out with his 
train, Albany shows disapproval of his wife's con- 
duct, while she rudely sends the Fool after his mas- 
ter, and calling for her steward, bids him ride off to 
Regan, to whom she has just written, and who will 
feel as little inclined as she to maintain troublesome 
followers. When the steward has gone, Goneril 
hotly rebukes her husband for his * milky gentleness,' 
paying no heed when he warns her that ' striving to 
better, oft we mar what's well.' 

Meantime, in the court before this castle, Lear is 
entrusting a letter for his second daughter to the dis- 
guised Kent, who is to hasten on ahead to notify her 
of his coming. This messenger dismissed, the Fool 
tries to cheer his master with his nonsense, although 
Lear pays little heed to it, for he fears his sorrows 
are driving him mad. But, when he learns his 
horses are ready, he hastens off the scene. 

Act II. The second act opens before Glouces- 
ter's castle, where Edmund meets a messenger from 
Regan, announcing she and her husband will be 
there that very night. Surprised by this unexpected 
visit, Edmund wonders what it may mean, and 



36 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

learns rumours are afloat of a quarrel between Al- 
bany and Cornwall. When the messenger has gone 
again, Edmund shrewdly arranges to turn this visit 
to his advantage, his father having decided to 
imprison the brother he has depicted as a traitor. 
Calling Edgar, Edmund now bids him flee, declar- 
ing his life is in danger; but conscious of innocence, 
Edgar refuses to obey. Still, when his father draws 
near, he blindly obeys when Edmund bids him draw 
his sword, pretend to fight, and then run away. 
Just as Edgar vanishes, Gloucester comes in, and 
seeing blood flow from a wound Edmund has in- 
flicted upon himself, believes his statement that Ed- 
gar attacked him. In his anger, Gloucester orders 
the fugitive pursued, and listens eagerly while Ed- 
mund accuses his brother of wounding him, simply 
because he would not help murder his father. 
Edmund's virtuous pose so thoroughly misleads 
Gloucester, that he vows Cornwall shall set a price 
upon Edgar's head, a resolution strengthened by 
Edmund's circumstantial testimony in regard to the 
pretended plot. 

It is at this juncture that Cornwall and Regan 
arrive, having already learned of Edgar's so-called 
criminal attempt, which they can scarcely credit. 
Still, remembering Edgar has associated with her 
father's followers, Regan fancies he has become im- 
bued with the riotous spirit her sister so eloquently 
described in the letter which induced her to leave 
home, so if her father arrived there, he could not 
gain admittance. When Cornwall next praises Ed- 
mund for the service he has rendered his father, the 



King hear 37 

villain modestly claims he only did his duty, and 
tenders faithful service to the Duke. 

The next scene is also played before Glouces- 
ter's castle, where the steward sent by Goneril to 
warn Regan meets Kent, who has followed Lear's 
daughter hither to deliver his master's letter. Recog- 
nising the servant who failed in respect to his em- 
ployer, Kent answers him in so surly a tone that, 
after some vehement altercation, swords are drawn 
and they begin to fight. Roars from the steward, — 
when beaten by the flat of Kent's sword, — summon 
the inmates of the castle, who enquire what such 
a brawl can mean? In reply to Cornwall's ques- 
tions, Kent expresses so unflattering and intemperate 
an opinion of the steward, that Cornwall, conclud- 
ing he is in the wrong, sentences him to the stocks, 
although he protests a royal emissary should not be 
treated thus! In spite of this fact and of Glouces- 
ter's intercession, Kent is placed in the stocks, and 
all go off save the owner of the castle, who ex- 
presses pity for him. By this time, however, Kent 
is ready to bear his ordeal in a philosophic spirit, 
and when Gloucester leaves him, draws out a letter, 
— just received from Cordelia, — and reads it by 
moonlight, ere falling asleep. 

We next behold a wood, where the fugitive Ed- 
gar is hiding, and where, having heard himself 
formally outlawed, he decides to grime his face, 
blanket his loins, elf his locks, and, assuming the 
appearance of an escaped bedlamite, call himself 
' Poor Tom,' and beg his way to some place of 
safety. 



38 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

We return to Gloucester's castle just as weary 
King Lear arrives there with his Fool and another 
attendant, wondering that his daughter Regan 
should not have been at home, and marvelling at 
her sudden departure. Hearing himself hailed, Lear 
turns in the direction of the voice, only to discover 
his messenger in the stocks! On learning that 
Regan and Cornwall ordered this punishment, he 
is so amazed that, after a first outburst of anger, 
he listens in silence to Kent's fiery description of 
his encounter with the steward. Meanwhile the 
Fool chants a weird ditty, which subtly reveals how 
thoroughly he understands the whole situation. 

Feeling his sorrows rise like a tide which threatens 
to choke him, Lear hoarsely questions where his 
daughter may be, and learning she is in the castle, 
hastens thither, leaving Kent to enquire of his mas- 
ter's two followers why a king is so meanly at- 
tended? He then learns of the heartless desertion 
of the royal train, who have forsaken Lear as rats 
do a sinking ship. 

The Fool is just singing another song, when Lear 
returns with Gloucester, indignant because his 
daughter and son-in-law refuse to see him. When 
Gloucester declines to summon them for fear of 
rousing Cornwall's anger, King Lear bursts into 
a rage, declaring he has double rights to their 
obedience as king and father. Then, in the midst 
of his tirade, becoming aware that his poor servant 
is still in the stocks, the tender-hearted monarch 
orders him released, and says the Cornwalls must 
be summoned or he will batter down their chamber- 



King Le,ar 39 

door. While Gloucester goes off, asserting he would 
fain see peace between father and daughter, Lear, 
who is almost choking with rage, is approached by 
the Fool, who compassionately seeks to divert him, 
until the Cornwalls enter escorted by Gloucester 
and attendants. While greetings are exchanged, 
Kent is set free ; and Lear, no longer troubled about 
him, turns to Regan, stating he knows she is glad 
to see him, and pathetically accusing her sister of a 
1 sharp-tooth'd unkindness ' which rends his heart. 
Paying scant heed to these complaints, Regan coldly 
rejoins her sister cannot have scanted her duty, in- 
sists she was right in diminishing his train, and bids 
him return and beg her forgiveness. 

Such a humiliation is too much for Lear who, 
ironically acting out the scene, enquires whether 
she expects him to kneel before his own offspring, 
asking for ' raiment, bed, and food ' ? When Regan 
merely reiterates what she said before, he indig- 
nantly refuses to return to Goneril, cursing her so 
vehemently, that Regan rejoins he will probably 
revile her next. In tender tones, the heartbroken 
father protests, vowing he knows she would never 
so far forget what she owes him as to begrudge him 
his pleasures and diminish his train. 

Just then, a noise is heard without, which Regan 
assures him heralds Goneril ; who follows close upon 
a letter announcing her arrival. Seeing the steward 
enter, Regan questions him, although Lear bids him 
be gone, and, reminded by his presence of the insult 
offered him, again demands who ' stocked ' his serv- 
ant? Before his question can be answered, Goneril 



40 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

appears, and Lear, after calling upon the heavens to 
take his part, indignantly demands whether she is 
not ashamed to look at him, and wonders how Regan 
can welcome her so cordially. By coolly replying 
that ( all's not offence that indiscretion finds and 
dotage terms so,' Regan drives Lear to such a pitch 
of fury, that unwilling to dwell on this topic longer, 
he again enquires who put his servant in the stocks? 

Because Cornwall admits ordering the punish- 
ment, Lear is about to chide him, when Regan, 
rudely interrupts, bidding him dismiss half his 
train, and return to her sister's, declining to receive 
him until he has finished his month with her. This 
exasperates King Lear, who vows he would rather 
remain exposed to the inclemency of the weather, or 
humiliate himself before the King of France! 
Coldly bidding him suit himself, Goneril turns con- 
temptuously aside, whereupon Lear implores her not 
to drive him mad, and vows he will henceforth con- 
sider her merely as a disease in his flesh, but, when 
he concludes by stating he and his hundred men are 
going to take up their abode with Regan, this lady 
insists her sister is quite right, and notwithstand- 
ing Lear's reproaches, vows so large a train as his 
is sure to breed trouble in a household, and that she 
can entertain only twenty-five men. 

Amazed to hear such talk from those to whom he 
has given all they own, Lear turns in bewilderment 
to Goneril, deeming her, after all, the more gen- 
erous of the two, since she is willing to harbour 
half his train. She, however, now declares that 
even five men would be too many, so poor King 



King Lear 41 

Lear prays for patience, and with tears coursing 
down his aged cheeks, helplessly gasps he will be re- 
venged. Then, leaning on the shoulder of his Fool, 
he staggers out into the storm, closely followed by 
Gloucester and Kent. 

Meantime, his heartless daughters conclude he 
must ' taste his folly,' just as Gloucester returns, re- 
porting his master is calling for horses, and is bound 
he knows not whither, notwithstanding the storm. 
His words are, however, addressed to unfeeling 
hearts, for Lear's daughters merely hasten under 
shelter, and the doors are locked behind them! 

Act III. The third act opens in the midst of this 
storm on a desolate heath, where Kent, stumbling 
in the darkness upon one of Lear's men, enquires 
who is there? This man, in answer to further 
questions, describes Lear a helpless prey to the ele- 
ments, with no companion save the Fool, who alone 
has remained faithful. Believing his interlocutor 
trustworthy, Kent apprises him that division will 
soon break out between the Dukes of Cornwall and 
Albany, and that a force is even now on its way 
from France to restore Lear to his throne. Then, 
armed with a token for Cordelia, this gentleman 
hurries off to Dover, intending, by Kent's advice, 
to join the invading force and make Lear's pitiful 
plight known. 

In another part of the wind-swept heath we next 
behold Lear, vying with the storm in his passion of 
grief, although the Fool adjures him, from time to 
time, to cease calling down curses, and seek shelter 
with his daughters. To distract his frantic master, 



42 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

this poor wight chants a weird ditty, just as Kent dis- 
covers them, vowing pitifully such a night has never 
yet been seen! Concurring in this opinion, Lear 
opines that the gods are seeking criminals to punish, 
but touchingly describes himself as a man ' more 
sinn'd against than sinning.' It is only, however, 
to save his Fool from further exposure that he finally 
yields to Kent's entreaties, and goes in search of 
shelter to a neighbouring hovel, the Fool chanting 
his rhymes and uttering a prophecy, which he flat- 
ters himself may some day be ascribed to the great 
wizard Merlin! 

We return to Gloucester's castle, where Edmund's 
father confides to him how he disapproves of the 
conduct of Lear's daughters, who will have cause to 
rue what they have done erelong, as papers in his 
closet prove. He adds that even should he forfeit 
life thereby, he is going out to seek and relieve his 
aged master, and has barely gone when Edmund 
decides to reveal these secrets to Cornwall, thereby 
furthering his own fortunes, and rising by his father's 
fall. 

Meantime, Lear, Kent, and the Fool have reached 
the hovel; into which the king refuses to enter, de- 
claring ' the greater malady ' of his daughters' in- 
gratitude makes him oblivious of such lesser trials 
as cold and storm. Still, even in his grief he is not 
unmindful of others, for he bids the shivering Fool 
get under shelter, and eloquently prays for all who 
are homeless and unhappy, accusing himself of hav- 
ing lacked charity in more prosperous times. 

A wail from the inner recesses of the hovel, and 



King Lear 43 

the reappearance of the terrified Fool declaring there 
is a demon in the hut, paves the way for the appear- 
ance of Edgar, so disguised that no one recognises 
him. Rattling off a rigmarole in the whining tones 
of a professional beggar, Edgar rouses the compas- 
sion of King Lear, who sadly wonders whether his 
daughters brought him to such a pass, and asks 
whether he gave them all and reserved naught for 
his own use? Interrupted by half-wise, half- foolish 
remarks from his Jester, and pitifully watched by 
Kent, Lear converses with this madman, whom he 
considers the only sane person, since he alone owes 
nothing to any man. Next the mad king begins to 
strip off his own garments, although his Jester 
tries to check him, by humorously remarking ' 'tis a 
naughty night to swim in ! ' 

It is at this moment that Gloucester, approaching 
with a torch, is compared by Edgar to a will-o'-the- 
wisp. Little suspecting that the madman before him 
is his outlawed son, Gloucester turns to Lear, in- 
viting him, — notwithstanding his daughters' harsh 
commands, — to a place of shelter, an offer Kent 
vainly urges his distracted master to accept. Mean- 
time, he whispers to Gloucester that the old man's 
wits are unsettled by his griefs, a state of affairs 
which seems natural to Gloucester, who groans Kent 
only too truly predicted what would happen. He 
adds that he, too, is almost mad with sorrow, be- 
cause his son recently sought to slay him! With 
great difficulty Lear is finally induced to accompany 
Gloucester, but consents only when allowed to take 
with him the Fool and the madman, the latter chant- 



44 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

ing weirdly the traditional f Fie, foh, and fum, I 
smell the blood of a British man.' 

We again return to Gloucester's castle, where 
Edmund has revealed his father's secrets to Corn- 
wall; the latter, after denouncing father and eldest 
son as traitors, promises Edmund their estates, pro- 
vided he apprehend Gloucester, who is to be made 
an example. Knowing he will find his father min- 
istering to King Lear, Edmund hurries off, hypo- 
critically protesting he will persevere in his ' course 
of loyalty, though the conflict be sore between that 
and my blood.' 

The next scene is played in a neighbouring farm- 
house, whither Gloucester conveys Lear and his 
pitiful train, for which deed of charity the disguised 
Kent warmly thanks him ere he leaves. The re- 
marks of the madman and the Fool, — the latter 
frantically trying to divert his master's mind from his 
troubles, — are interrupted from time to time by 
Lear's haunting speeches in regard to the ingratitude 
of his daughters, whom he finally arraigns in a heart- 
rending mock-trial. Only with difficulty, Kent finally 
induces Lear to rest, as Gloucester returning, draws 
him aside, to whisper he has just overheard a plot 
to slay the king. He, therefore, urges Kent to 
carry him quickly to a waiting litter, which will con- 
vey him to Dover and out of reach of harm. Al- 
though fearful lest Lear's temporary insanity may 
become permanent if he is not allowed to rest, Kent 
summons the Fool to help bear the king away, and 
all leave the stage, save Edgar, who, no longer 
compelled to affect madness, mournfully declares 



King Lear 45 

that ' when we our betters see bearing our woes, 
we scarcely think our miseries our foes.' Then, 
concluding Lear is ' childed ' as he himself is 
* father'd,' Edgar hurries away, resuming his role of 
madman, and piously hoping the old king may be 
safe. 

The rising curtain reveals Cornwall, excitedly 
bidding his sister-in-law Tiurry'home to inform her 
husband that French forces have landed at Dover. 
When both sisters clamour that Gloucester should 
first be punished, he bids them leave that to him, 
and appoints Edmund to escort Goneril, as it would 
not be fitting he should witness his father's punish- 
ment. At this moment the steward entering to re- 
port Gloucester has contrived Lear's escape to Dover, 
is directed to provide horses for the departing 
travellers, while other men are sent to apprehend 
Gloucester. 

Pinioned like a thief, Gloucester is soon brought 
in, only to be welcomed by such venomous speeches 
from Cornwall and Regan that he ventures to re- 
mind them they are his guests! Tortured by too 
tight bonds, his beard plucked out by the cruel 
Regan, Gloucester vainly remonstrates, refusing at 
first to reveal what connection he has with the in- 
vaders or whither he has sent the aged king. Finally, 
however, goaded into speech, he defiantly acknowl- 
edges all he has done, thereby so enraging Cornwall, 
that he bids servants hold the prisoner while he 
puts out his eyes. Less cruel than their master, the 
servants seek to interfere, one of them even fighting, 
and losing his life at Regan's hands, while trying to 



46 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

defend the poor prisoner. Thus enabled to work his 
wicked will, Cornwall utterly blinds Gloucester, 
whose grief reaches its culmination only when ruth- 
lessly informed of Edmund's treachery. 

Too late now, Gloucester realises Edgar must 
have been slandered, and prays he may be forgiven. 
Then Regan orders him turned out, helpless and pen- 
niless, to i smell his way to Dover.' It is only after 
her vengeance has thus been sated that she remem- 
bers her husband has been hurt in the fray, and goes 
to his rescue, little suspecting he has received a 
mortal injury. All having left the scene save the 
servants, they express deep compassion for Glouces- 
ter, whose sufferings they wish to relieve by soothing 
applications to his eyes, and for whom they propose 
to hire the madman to act as guide. 

Act IV. The fourth act opens on the heath, 
where Edgar, the wanderer, suddenly beholds his 
father, led by an old man who mumbles he has been 
his tenant fourscore years, and pities him for not be- 
ing able to see his way. Bitterly, Gloucester com- 
ments he ' stumbled ' when he saw, and is just 
wishing he could see Edgar in his ' touch,' when his 
son becomes aware of his piteous plight. At the 
same moment, the old man perceives and addresses 
Poor Tom, whom Gloucester remembers having seen 
with King Lear, and whom he suddenly decides to 
use as guide. 

Bidding his old tenant charitably supply the men- 
dicant with suitable garments, Gloucester declares 
this madman will guide him to Dover, a task the 
pitying Edgar eagerly accepts, while keeping up his 



King Lear 47 

pretended role, and indulging in moved asides which 
show how deeply he is affected by his father's suffer- 
ings. While the old man departs in quest of apparel, 
Gloucester enquires whether Poor Tom knows the 
way to a beetling cliff near Dover, stating he wishes 
to be led to its very brink, and pathetically adding 
1 from that place I shall no leading need.' 

The next scene is played before the Duke of 
Albany's palace, just as Goneril arrives there, bid- 
ding her escort welcome. Her steward, who has 
preceded her with the news of her arrival, of the 
French invasion, and of Gloucester's punishment, 
now reports that his master received his tidings in a 
queer way. In sudden fear for Edmund, — for whom 
she has conceived a guilty passion, — Goneril now bids 
him hasten back to Cornwall, and muster his forces, 
while she collects hers. But, before parting from 
him, the fond Goneril gives Edmund a favour and 
kiss, promising her steward shall soon bring him 
tidings of her. 

f Edgar gone, Goneril comments upon the differ- 
ence between him and her husband, until Albany 
joins her, and truthfully but uncomplimentarily in- 
forms her she is ' not worth the dust which the rude 
wind blows ' in her face. Heedless of the just re- 
proaches which he heaps upon her and her sister for 
their cruelty to King Lear, Goneril reviles him as a 
' milk-liver'd man,' and accuses him of doing nothing 
to defend his kingdom against French aggression. 
Although recognising she is a fiend, Albany vows her 
' woman's shape doth shield ' her, just as a breathless 
messenger reports that Cornwall has died because of 



48 Stories of Shakespeare' 's Tragedies 

the wound dealt by his servant while he was blind- 
ing Gloucester. This is the first intimation Albany 
has received of Gloucester's torture, and while he 
comments in horror upon it, his wicked wife mutters 
she does not like to think Edmund is now alone with 
the widowed Regan! Because she hastens away to 
answer her sister's letter, Goneril fails to hear the 
messenger reveal how basely Edmund betrayed his 
father, or Albany's oath to avenge Gloucester's lost 
eyesight ! 

The curtain next rises on the French camp near 
Dover, where Kent is enquiring why the French 
king so suddenly returned to France? He is told 
that although political exigences demanded his re- 
turn, his troops have been left behind in good hands, 
ere he enquires how Cordelia acted on receiving the 
news of her father's pitiful condition? The 
courtier's description of that tender daughter's tears 
and exclamations reveals to Kent how deeply Cor- 
delia feels all that has befallen poor Lear, who, 
although near by, refuses to see her, his present 
madness being mainly due to a haunting sense of his 
injustice toward his favourite child. Questioning 
his interlocutor also in regard to the movements of 
Cornwall and Albany, Kent next learns that their 
forces are afoot, so he proposes the courtier take 
his place and wait upon King Lear, as important 
duties demand his temporary absence. 

In a tent we next behold Cordelia, who is ex- 
claiming her father has just been met wandering 
abroad ' as mad as the vex'd sea,' crowned with 
weeds and singing aloud. After sending out a hun- 



King Lear 49 

dred men in quest of him, Cordelia eagerly enquires 
of her physician what means can be employed to 
restore her father's reason? When told sleep and 
rest may effect a recovery, Cordelia implores the 
doctor to use his best sedatives, just as a messenger 
announces the approach of the British troops. Thus 
forced to bestir herself in her father's behalf, Cor- 
delia hurries out, hoping Lear may soon be restored 
to his rights and senses, and that she may at last 
1 hear and see him ! ' 

In Gloucester's castle we behold Regan, closely 
questioning the steward in regard to Albany's move- 
ments, and enquiring whether Edmund saw this 
nobleman when he escorted Goneril home? She next 
expresses great curiosity in regard to a letter the 
steward is bearing from Goneril to Edmund, which 
he refuses to let her peruse, although she explains 
that her husband being dead, she intends soon to 
marry the new Duke of Gloucester. After receiving 
a letter from her also, the steward hastens off to 
deliver both missives to this young man, who has 
been sent in pursuit of his blind father. 

Fields near Dover meet our view, through which 
Edgar patiently guides the blind Gloucester, assur- 
ing him they are climbing a steep hill, that a broad 
horizon lies all around them, and that the waves 
are pounding the cliffs far below. Unable to detect 
signs or sound confirming these statements, Glouces- 
ter's suspicions are lulled only when his guide as- 
sures him that the pain in his eyes has dulled his 
other senses. When Gloucester suddenly remarks 
that his voice and manner have strangely altered, 



50 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

Edgar vainly tries to sink back into a mendicant 
whine, for love having enabled him to divine his 
father's purpose, he is determined to save him 
against his will. Leading the old man cautiously 
forward as if to the brink of some great abyss, Edgar 
graphically describes the dizzy height, the birds 
circling at their feet, the samphire gatherers clinging 
to the rocks, and in reply to Gloucester's questions, 
vows that a man leaping from the spot where he 
stands, would fall straight down and be dashed to 
pieces on the rocks below. 

After bestowing upon his guide the promised re- 
ward, and listening intently to the decreasing sound 
of his footsteps, the blind Gloucester touchingly 
prays for forgiveness, blesses his son Edgar, and 
flings himself madly forward, under the impression 
he is hurling himself from the top of the cliff. Such 
is the tension of emotion that he faints away, and 
Edgar, hurrying forward, picks him up, assuring 
him, as soon as he recovers consciousness, that he saw 
him fall from the top of the cliff, and that naught 
save a miracle preserved his life. Persuaded by such 
loving deception that this is really so, Gloucester 
concludes death is not intended for him, and 
bravely resolves ' henceforth I'll bear affliction till it 
do cry out itself " enough, enough," and die.' 

It is just as this satisfactory point is reached, that 
Edgar beholds Lear approach, crowned with weeds, 
and madly proclaiming his right to coin money. 
This pitiful sight wrings the heart of Edgar, who, 
amid wild divagations, hears Lear call out against 
his ungrateful daughters. Detecting something fa- 



King Lear 51 

miliar in the tones of this voice, Gloucester begs 
permission to kiss Lear's hand, only to be accused 
of squinting at him from his eyeless sockets! The 
dialogue between the two afflicted old men proves 
heartrending to Edgar, so noticing his tears, Lear 
sighs that men come into the world crying, and 
preaches a sermon on that theme. There is much 
* matter and impertinency ' mixed in Lear's divaga- 
tions, yet he strikes madly around him at imaginary 
foes, when suddenly surrounded by Cordelia's serv- 
ants, to whom he refuses to yield and by whom he is 
hotly pursued as he runs off the stage. 

Meantime, answering Edgar, who wishes to know 
whether a battle is imminent, one of the officers 
rejoins it can be heard raging, ere he too hurries off. 
Turning to his blind father, to whom he now de- 
scribes himself as a man ' made tame to fortune's 
blows,' Edgar offers to lead him to a place of safety, 
just as Goneril's steward rushes upon Gloucester, 
in hopes of killing him and thus winning the prom- 
ised reward. But, although Gloucester joyfully 
welcomes any prospect of death, Edgar interposes 
and fights with the steward, who, falling mortally 
wounded, gasps a request that the letters he car- 
ries may be immediately taken to Edmund, Earl of 
Gloucester. 

Searching the corpse at his feet, Edgar discovers 
letters, which, as it is lawful ' to know our enemies' 
minds,' he peruses, thus discovering how Goneril 
is plotting against Albany's life so as to marry Ed- 
mund. Burying these letters in the sand until 
needed, Edgar leads Gloucester away, promising to 



'$2 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

place him in custody of a friend while he takes part 
in the fray. 

In a tent in the French camp we behold Lear 
asleep, while Cordelia tearfully tries to express her 
gratitude to Kent, who gravely assures her ' to be 
acknowledged, madam, is o'erpaid.' From the con- 
versation between Cordelia, Kent, and the doctor, 
we gather that Lear is now under the influence of a 
powerful opiate, and that they hope prolonged sleep 
may restore his senses. Hanging lovingly over the 
old man, Cordelia mourns over the traces past suf- 
ferings have left, although he has been regally 
clothed and surrounded with every luxury, so that 
on awakening nothing may remind him of his 
sorrows. 

It is while music is softly playing that Lear 
awakens, murmuring it is wrong to call him out of 
his grave. Then, perceiving Cordelia, who tremu- 
lously enquires whether he knows her, he takes her 
for a spirit, and after gazing around him, pathetic- 
ally confesses he is a ' very foolish fond old man,' 
for he is labouring under the delusion that she is his 
child, Cordelia! Even her assurance that he is not 
mistaken, and the fact that her tears wet his fingers, 
fail to convince Lear he is not dreaming, since he 
goes on tremulously protesting he will drink poison 
if his daughter wishes, for she has cause to hate him 
although her sisters have not. The doctor augurs 
hopefully from the patient's mildness, when King 
Lear meekly goes out with Cordelia, pathetically 
begging her to bear with him, and to forgive and 
forget. 



King Lear 53 

When they have vanished, a gentleman informs 
Kent that Cornwall is dead, and that his troops are 
now led by Edmund, whose brother and father, he 
says, have taken refuge in Germany. When this 
nobleman has gone, exclaiming that ' the arbitre- 
ment ' of this quarrel ' is like to be bloody,' Kent 
adds ' my point and period will be thoroughly 
wrought, or well or ill as this day's battle's fought.' 

Act V. The fifth act opens in the British camp 
near Dover, where Edmund, after despatching a 
messenger to ascertain Albany's intentions, agrees 
with Regan that some misfortune must have befallen 
her sister's steward. When she jealously accuses 
him of loving Goneril, he denies it, just as Albany 
enters with wife and train. Muttering she had 
rather lose the battle than her lover, Regan re- 
ceives Albany's greeting and announcement that Lear 
is now in the French camp. To discuss what had 
best be done, Albany invites Edmund into his tent, 
while the sisters, who have been eying each other 
mistrustfully, go off the stage together. As Albany 
is about to leave also, Edgar enters in disguise, and 
delivers a letter which he charges the duke to read 
before entering into battle, and for whose truth a 
champion will answer whenever a herald summons 
him. Before the duke can peruse this missive, Ed- 
mund brings him a list of the ' enemy's ' forces, 
which Albany carries away. Meantime, left alone, 
Edmund comments he is pledged to both sisters, 
whose keen jealousy is aroused. Aware he cannot 
enjoy one as long as the other lives, Edmund decides 
to make what use he can of Albany, leaving to his 



54 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

wife the care of removing him afterwards out of 
their way. He also intends to defeat any merciful 
intentions Albany may cherish in regard to Lear 
and Cordelia, and leaves the stage exclaiming, ' My 
state stands on me to defend, not to debate.' 

The next scene is played on the battle-field, just 
as Edgar places Gloucester beneath a tree, bidding 
him ' pray that the right may thrive.' A few mo- 
ments later Edgar returns to lead Gloucester away, 
exclaiming that King Lear and his daughter have 
been taken ! Seeing Gloucester refuse to stir, Edgar 
prevails upon him to come away only by reminding 
him that ' men must endure their going hence, even 
as their coming hither.' 

In the British camp, we next hear Edmund order- 
ing Lear and Cordelia to prison, until Albany's 
pleasure in regard to them be known. As they are 
led away, Cordelia exclaims they ' are not the first 
who with best meaning have incurr'd the worst,' and 
pities her poor father. But he, hearing her ask 
whether they shall not see her sisters, tremblingly 
hurries her away to prison, where he assures her they 
1 will sing like birds i' the cage,' and where he will 
continually beg her forgiveness, for nothing shall 
ever part them again. 

Calling back the captain in charge of these prison- 
ers, Edmund hands him a paper, bidding him carry 
out the instructions it contains, and send him word 
when all is done. In hopes of speedy advancement 
the captain goes out, promising ' if't be man's work, 
I'll do it.' 

Trumpets next announce the arrival of Goneril, 



King Lear 55 

Regan, and Albany, the latter congratulating Ed- 
mund upon the captives he has secured, in regard 
to whose disposal he intends to decide later. On 
learning, however, that Edmund has already con- 
signed them both to prison, Albany reproves him so 
sternly for presumption, that Regan haughtily as- 
serts, as her representative and leader of her forces, 
Edmund has rights equal to his own! Then, in 
reply to remarks from Goneril, she intimates she in- 
tends to marry Edmund, a statement which rouses 
Goneril's jealousy to such a pitch that she betrays 
her infidelity. 

The time having come for Albany to act, he 
orders the arrest of Edmund on the charge of capi- 
tal treason, grimly tells his sister-in-law she cannot 
marry this gallant since his wife is pledged to do so, 
and flings down his glove at the traitor's feet. It is 
at this moment that Regan is overcome by a sudden 
illness, which Goneril knows is due to the poison 
she has secretly administered. Meantime, Edmund 
flings down his gauntlet, too, offering to prove with 
his sword he is no traitor. Hearing this, Albany 
bids a herald sound his trumpet and summon Ed- 
mund's accuser, just as Regan, too ill to remain on 
the stage any longer, is led away. The three 
trumpet calls resound, and at the herald's third and 
last summons Edgar appears, fully armed, declaring 
when questioned that, although nameless at present, 
he is ready to cope with the man whom he denounces 
as ' false to thy gods, thy brother, and thy father.' 
Although Edmund haughtily states he has the privi- 
lege of refusing to fight a nameless opponent, he, 



$6 Stories of Shakespeare* s Tragedies 

accepts this challenge, and the fight begins. Soon 
Edmund falls, to the horror of Goneril, whose inter- 
ference her husband effectually checks by producing 
her letter, which he next hands to the mortally 
wounded Edmund. Without admitting her guilt, 
Goneril leaves the stage, and arguing from her ex- 
pression that she is desperate, Albany orders her 
watched. Just then, Edmund gasps out, ' what you 
have charged me with, that have I done; and more, 
much more ; the time will bring it out : 'tis past, and 
so am I.' Then he demands the name of his victor, 
and when Edgar makes himself known, Albany em- 
braces him, vowing he never hated him or his father, 
a fact of which the young man is aware. Albany 
also eagerly enquires where father and son have been 
hiding, whereupon Edgar briefly describes how he 
played the part of blind man's guide, and saved 
Gloucester from committing suicide, but adds that, 
when he revealed his identity half an hour ago, 
Gloucester's ' flaw'd heart,' ' twixt two extremes of 
passion, joy, and grief, burst smiling.' 

On hearing this, Edmund, — who is still alive, — 
shows deep emotion, but Edgar, without heeding it, 
describes how, just as he was summoned, the ban- 
ished Kent fell upon his father's corpse, moaning out 
a piteous tale in regard to Lear, whom he had fol- 
lowed and served in disguise. His account is now 
interrupted by the appearance of a man with a bloody 
knife, who gasps that Goneril stabbed herself, after 
poisoning her sister! Just as the dying Edmund adds 
the information that he was contracted to both sis- 
ters, and that all three will ' marry in an instant/ 



King Lear 57 

Albany orders the bodies produced, declaring this is 
Heaven's judgment upon the wicked. At this junc- 
ture Kent enters, begging permission to ' bid my 
king and master aye good-night.' Thus reminded 
of Lear's existence, Albany asks Edmund where the 
king may be, while the bodies of Goneril and Regan 
are brought in. 

After proudly explaining the cause of their death 
to Kent, Edmund, seized with tardy repentance, im- 
plores Albany to send in haste to the prison, where 
his writ threatens the life of Lear and Cordelia. 
Bearing his brother's sword, as ' token of reprieve/ 
Edgar rushes off, while Edmund gasps that his orders 
were to hang Cordelia in prison, and give her death 
the appearance of suicide. Praying the gods may de- 
fend her, Albany orders Edmund removed, just as 
Edgar ushers in King Lear, bearing the dead Cor- 
delia in his arms, and wildly calling upon all to 
mourn for one who is ' gone for ever ! ' 

The next moment the frantic father tries with 
mirror and feather to detect traces of life, the others 
meantime crowding around him, in pity and horror. 

All tests, however, prove vain, and when faithful 
Kent falls at his master's feet, he is impatiently 
told to go away, Lear having no thought save for 
the daughter whose ' voice was ever soft, gentle, and 
low, an excellent thing in woman.' The aged king 
a moment later boasts how he slew, with his own 
hand, the slave who was hanging Cordelia, a fact 
confirmed by the captain. Then, suddenly meeting 
Kent's glance, Lear recognises in the man who served 
him in adversity, his former faithful vassal. 



58 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

It is Kent who breaks to Lear the news of the 
death of his eldest daughters, tidings he receives 
without emotion, and which are followed by a cap- 
tain's report of Edmund's demise. Turning to the 
bystanders, Albany now proclaims he will restore all 
Lear's wealth and honours, and reinstate Kent and 
Edgar in their rights, adding that ' all friends shall 
taste the wages of their virtue, and all foes the 
cup of their deservings.' But such consolation as 
these words might afford fails to reach Lear, who 
moans his poor Fool has been hanged, and renews 
his efforts to revive Cordelia, across whose body he 
finally drops dead! With a heartfelt prayer that 
his sufferings may at last be over, Kent forbids them 
to try and recall Lear's departing spirit, assuring 
them ' he hates him, that would upon the rack of 
this tough world stretch him out longer.' 

All the corpses are finally borne away by Albany's 
order, who bespeaks the aid of Kent and Edgar, the 
1 friends of his soul,' to govern the realm wisely. 
This invitation Kent briefly declines, stating: * I have 
a journey, sir, shortly to go; my master calls me, I 
must not say no.' And, while following the funeral 
procession off the stage, Edgar sadly exclaims: ' The 
weight of this sad time we must obey; speak what 
we feel, not what we ought to say. The oldest has 
borne most: we that are young shall never see so 
much, nor live so long.' 



OTHELLO 

Act I. The first act opens in a street in Venice, 
where Roderigo is reproaching his friend Iago for 
having neglected his interests in favour of Othello. 
Far from doing anything of the sort, however, Iago 
cherishes a deep-seated grudge against this general, 
who, instead of granting him the lieutenancy he 
coveted, awarded this office to his rival Cassio. In 
his bitterness Iago concludes that ' preferment goes 
by letter and affection, and not by old gradation,' and 
explains that, although about to follow Othello to 
the wars, he does so now merely in hope of wreaking 
his revenge. 

Then Iago slyly adds that since Othello carried 
off Roderigo's lady-love, Desdemona, he, too, can 
secure sorne redress by rousing her father and sending 
him in pursuit of the elopers. Thus instigated, 
Roderigo soon pauses before Brabantio's silent house, 
and attracts his attention by noisy calls. The 
startled Brabantio, peering out of the window, re- 
fuses at first to believe the news brutally conveyed 
by the disturbers of his peace, for he recognises in 
Roderigo one of his daughter's rejected suitors. 
Still, when their circumstantial report is supported 
by his daughter's absence from home, he realises 
that their news confirms a bad dream, and eagerly 
grasps at Roderigo's suggestion to pursue the couple 
and seek redress. 

59 



60 Stories of Shakespeare *s Tragedies 

While Brabantio retires to dress and collect his 
servants, Iago proposes to join Othello at the inn, 
saying that, although he hates him, ' yet for neces- 
sity of present life, I must show out a flag in sign 
of love, which is indeed but sign.' He also advises 
Roderigo to lead Brabantio and his party thither in 
quest of the missing Desdemona, and vanishes as 
Brabantio eagerly emerges from the house, asking 
whether Roderigo thinks the couple are married, as 
that alone could mitigate his grief. Then, wailing 
that Desdemona must have been charmed or drugged 
by some love-potion, or she would never have left 
him for the Moor, Brabantio proposes to summon his 
friends and his kinsmen to his aid and goes off with 
Roderigo. 

The second scene occurs in the street before the 
inn, where Iago boasts to Othello he was strongly 
tempted to slay his superior's detractors, although 
he holds ' it very stuff o' the conscience to do no 
contrived murder.' After adding that Brabantio 
threatens revenge, he eagerly enquires whether the 
marriage has already taken place, warning Othello 
that Brabantio will do all he can to secure a divorce 
and hinder his advancement. To all these objec- 
tions Othello proudly rejoins he is of noble lineage, 
although a Moor, and that the services he had 
rendered Venice will force the Republic to respect 
his marriage. While he is still talking a troop draws 
near, which Iago at first mistakes for that of Bra- 
bantio. This is, however, headed by Cassio, 
Othello's new lieutenant, who reports the Duke re- 
quires his immediate presence in the senate, as 



Othello 6 1 

momentous news has just arrived from Cyprus. 
Promising to follow soon, Othello vanishes into the 
house, behaviour which seems strange to Cassio until 
he learns the general's bride lodges there. 

Just as Othello reappears to accompany Cassio 
to the senate, Brabantio's troop arrives, but, although 
an affray seems imminent, Othello uses his authority 
to restrain both parties and gravely assures Braban- 
tio he is at his command. The irate father, after 
accusing him of using charms to lure his daughter 
to his ' sooty bosom,' suddenly bids his followers 
arrest him, but Othello rejoins he cannot go to 
prison since the senate demands his presence. In 
hope of immediate redress, Brabantio decides to 
escort him to the senate, where we next behold Duke 
and senators discussing the news. Although all 
have received different tidings, there seems no doubt 
the Turks are about to attack Cyprus, — where re- 
inforcements are needed. While they are talking 
thus, one sailor reports the Turkish fleet is prepar- 
ing to attack Cyprus, and another that the governor 
begs for aid. Measures for relief are therefore being 
discussed, when Brabantio and Othello enter, the 
latter to be warmly greeted by the Duke, who pro- 
poses to send him against the Turks. 

Only after greeting Othello, does the Duke per- 
ceive Brabantio, who excitedly demands that they 
attend to his grievance before these matters of state. 
When the Duke wonderingly enquires what has hap- 
pened, Brabantio sobs 'My daughter! O my daugh- 
ter ! ' adding, — when asked if she is dead, — that she 
has been taken from him by magic arts. Hearing 



62 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

the Duke solemnly promise to punish her beguiler, 
Brabantio denounces the Moor, Othello, whom he 
has just escorted into their presence. Because 
Othello is the only man able to aid Venice in her 
peril, this accusation proves unwelcome to the Duke, 
who, turning to the Moor, gravely asks what he can 
say in his defence? After admitting he carried off 
Brabantio's daughter and married her, Othello adds, 
' I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver,' and de- 
scribes his courtship, proving none but legitimate 
arts were used to win Desdemona's heart. But see- 
ing Brabantio still doubts him, Othello finally begs 
the Duke to summon his wife, offering should they 
find him * foul in her report,' to forfeit their trust, 
his office, and his very life! 

While Iago hastens to the inn to fetch Desde- 
mona, Othello further describes his visits to Braban- 
tio's house, where he related his ' moving accidents 
by flood and field,' hair-breadth escapes, visits to 
strange countries, and other extraordinary tales, all 
of which proved so interesting to the wondering 
damsel that they wrung tears from her eyes. He 
adds when she once exclaimed that if he ' had a 
friend that loved her ' he should teach him how to 
tell this story and thus win her heart, he could not 
but seize the hint and speak, seeing she loved him 
* for the dangers he had pass'd,' while he loved her 
because she pitied them. He concludes with the 
modest, manly statement, ' This only is the witch- 
craft I have used : — here comes the lady ; let her wit- 
ness it,' just as the Duke admits that tales so told 
would have won his daughter, too ! 



Othello 63 

Seeing Desdemona enter, Brabantio bids her state 
to whom she owes obedience, whereupon she 
promptly yet modestly rejoins she is now in presence 
of a ' divided duty,' being bound to Brabantio by 
filial ties, and to her husband for the duty which 
her mother showed to her father. Hearing this, 
Brabantio refuses to prosecute Othello any farther, 
and reluctantly admits the marriage, bitterly adding 
he would rather ' adopt a child than get it,' and 
rejoicing that he has no other offspring. Pleased 
with this result, yet wishing to comfort Brabantio, 
the Duke emits sundry wise maxims, which Bra- 
bantio grimly caps, before the senate is invited to 
devise measures of relief. 

After briefly stating the case in hand, the Duke 
appoints Othello to defend Cyprus, a charge he 
promises to fulfil with due energy. But, before 
leaving Venice, he wishes to provide for his wife's 
safety, and when the Duke proposes that she return 
to her father, objects as strongly as she or Bra- 
bantio. Before any other plan can be suggested for 
her custody, Desdemona gently entreats permission 
to accompany her husband to Cyprus, a request 
which so delights Othello, that he urges the senate 
to grant it, promising his wife's presence shall not 
hinder the faithful discharge of his duties. Al- 
though the Duke willingly consents, he urges Othello 
to depart immediately, leaving a messenger to follow 
with further orders. 

After selecting Iago for this purpose, Othello sug- 
gests that he and his wife also convey Desdemona to 
Cyprus, and is just leaving when Brabantio solemnly 



64 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

warns him, ' look to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes to 
see: she has deceived her father, and may thee.' 
This warning, however, does not daunt Othello, who 
loyally declares he is willing to stake his life on his 
wife's truth, ere he bids her follow him, as they have 
but one brief hour for leave-taking and final direc- 
tions. 

All the rest having gone, Roderigo grumbles to 
Iago that he must drown himself, since the lady is 
lost forever! Instead of agreeing with him, Iago 
bids Roderigo play the man instead of the fool, and 
artfully suggests he accompany them to Cyprus, 
where, — Moors being proverbially fickle, — he may 
yet succeed in winning Desdemona's favour. To ac- 
complish this, however, Iago insists funds will be 
necessary, so intersperses all his recommendations 
with the words ' put money in thy purse.' After 
making sure Iago will aid him, the credulous Rode- 
rigo promises to raise funds and go to Cyprus in 
hope of undermining Othello in his wife's affections. 

After Roderigo has gone, Iago reveals how cun- 
ningly he intends to use this fool and his purse to 
compass his own revenge upon Othello, whom he 
suspects, without cause, of having alienated his wife's 
affections. Besides, he is determined to oust Cassio 
from his lieutenancy, and proposes to reach these 
double ends by persuading Othello this officer loves 
his wife. After brooding over his plans for a while, 
Iago grimly concludes, ' I have't. It is engender'd. 
Hell and night must bring this monstrous birth to the 
world's light.' 

Act II. The second act opens on the quay in 



Othello 6$ 

Cyprus, where, in the midst of a hurricane, the gov- 
ernor and his suite watch for sails bringing them 
succour. While so doing they comment that, although 
this tempest may wreck the Turkish fleet, it may also 
damage the expected reinforcements. Their spirits 
are therefore greatly cheered when word is brought 
that a Venetian galley in charge of Cassio, Othello's 
lieutenant, has entered port, and reports witnessing 
the wreck of the greater part of the Turkish fleet. 

After courteously welcoming Cassio, who now 
appears, the governor expresses great concern for 
Othello, enquiring how he is shipped, and seems glad 
to learn he is on a well-steered bark. The cry, 
• a sail ! a sail ! ' now causes the crowd to hasten 
again to the shore, in hopes this time of welcoming 
the general who is to defend them against Turkish 
aggressions. Meanwhile the governor enquires of 
Cassio whether Othello is married, and learns that 
his wife Desdemona surpasses all other women in 
attraction, just as some one reports the arriving ves- 
sel is that of Iago, who escorts this lovely lady. 

A moment later Desdemona enters upon the scene, 
and after acknowledging Cassio's flattering greeting, 
anxiously enquires for her husband. Briefly re- 
joining he has not yet arrived, Cassio bids all pres- 
ent do homage to Othello's wife, a courtesy Desde- 
mona absent-mindedly acknowledges, owing to her 
extreme anxiety for her husband. But, before she 
can suffer further apprehensions, another vessel is 
sighted, and booming cannon soon proclaim the ar- 
rival of a guest of distinction. After sending down 
to the port for news, Cassio welcomes Iago and his 



66 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

wffe, gallantly kissing the latter, although Iago 
tartly remarks that should Emilia give him as much 
' of her lips as of her tongue she oft bestows on 
me,' he would soon have more than enough! This 
discourteous remark grieves Desdemona, who, hop- 
ing to change the subject, archly enquires what Iago 
would say if called upon to praise her? Promptly 
rejoining he is ' nothing if not critical,' Iago cleverly 
evades the question by resorting to maxims and to 
paradoxes, which Desdemona receives and parries 
with considerable wit. 

Then, seeing Cassio offers his hand to conduct 
Desdemona to the palace, Iago, noting his courteous 
bows and gallant manner, artfully proposes ' with as 
little a web as this ' to ' ensnare as great a fly as 
Cassio.' Just as they are about to leave, however, 
trumpet blasts announce the arrival of Othello, who 
rapturously greets his wife, in regard to whose safety 
he has been so anxious. But, when he exclaims his 
contentment is now at its height, Desdemona tenderly 
assures him their * loves and comforts ' will increase 
with their days, a statement to which he ejaculates a 
fervent ' Amen ! ' 

While the general and his wife are thus exchang- 
ing loving speeches, Iago, in an aside, grimly deter- 
mines to disturb their harmony. Turning at last 
to the spectators, Othello briefly announces, ' our 
wars are done, the Turks are drown'd,' ere he bids 
Iago see to his luggage, and the rest accompany him 
to the citadel. He is leading Desdemona off the 
scene, when Iago invites Roderigo to meet him at the 
port, stating that as Cassio is to mount guard that 



Othello 67 

night, they must seize this fine chance to under- 
mine him in the general's favour. To induce 
Roderigo. to execute his plans, Iago hints that Des- 
demona is in love with the lieutenant, news Roderigo 
refuses at first to believe; still, Iago manages to 
work him up gradually to the point of challenging 
Cassio that evening, intending by means of that broil 
to attain his wicked ends. 

Left alone at last, Iago avers Cassio doubtless 
loves Desdemona and she him; he adds, however, 
that he too loves her, but that, in order to avenge 
the injury he fancies Othello has done him, he pro- 
poses to deprive the Moor of his wife by making 
him so jealous he can never enjoy her society again. 
He also proposes to oust Cassio from office, and 
leaves the stage determined that Roderigo shall serve 
as his tool to compass both these ends. 

Scarcely has he gone when a herald marches 
down the street, loudly proclaiming festivities for 
that evening, in honour of the destruction of the 
Turkish fleet and of the general's wedding! 

The next scene is played in the castle, where 
Othello charges Cassio to maintain strict order, say- 
ing that Iago, who is a ' most honest ' man, will 
loyally help him. Then, turning to his wife, the 
general invites her to withdraw with him, so they 
can celebrate their reunion in private. 

When they have gone Iago enters, and hearing 
Cassio propose that they begin their watch, exclaims 
it is far too early, and that the general has dis- 
missed them merely because he wished to be alone 
with his wife. Because Cassio terms her a charming 



68 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

lady, Iago cleverly induces him to add all manner 
of complimentary phases, all of which he interprets 
in an evil sense. Then Iago presses Cassio to drink, 
an invitation the latter declines, frankly stating he 
is too easily affected by liquor. In spite of this wise 
refusal, the wily Iago soon induces Othello's lieu- 
tenant to join him and a few others in celebrating 
their victory. 

While Cassio goes out in quest of these guests, 
Iago reveals how he intends to make him drunk, and 
then play upon his excitable feelings until a brawl 
ensues. As he concludes, Cassio and his compan- 
ions enter, and Iago proceeds to entertain them with 
drinking songs and descriptions of foreign drinking 
customs. Meantime, he secretly plies the light-headed 
Cassio with drink until he becomes so intoxicated 
that he boasts of being perfectly sober! Such re- 
marks greatly divert the other drinkers, who encour- 
age Cassio, until he staggers out to mount guard; 
but he is no sooner gone than Iago ' damns him with 
such faint praise ' that the governor of Cyprus infers 
Othello's lieutenant is seldom sober and hence utterly 
untrustworthy. 

A moment later, when Roderigo enters, Iago 
whispers to him to go and challenge the lieutenant; 
then, resuming his conversation with the governor, 
he virtuously exclaims he loves Cassio far too well 
to betray his weaknesses to Othello ! Just then they 
are interrupted by loud cries for help, and see Cassio 
drive Roderigo into the room at the point of his 
sword, abusing him vehemently. Because the gov- 
ernor tries to separate the fighters by exclaiming 




F. Piloty 



OTHELLO AND DESDEMONA 

Otliel. "Yet I'll not shed her blood, 

Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow, 
And smooth as monumental alabaster. 



Othello. Act 5, Scene 2. 



Othello 69 

Cassio is drunk, the lieutenant suddenly turns upon 
him, and Iago seizes this opportunity to send Rod- 
erigo out to give the alarm. Then, pretending to 
quell the fight he has instigated, he chides the gov- 
ernor and Cassio, until the clanging of the alarm- 
bell causes him to exclaim in pretended dismay that 
the town will rise, and the lieutenant be * shamed 
for ever,' for having caused such a disturbance! 

The cries and bell-ringing soon bring Othello on 
the scene, sternly demanding what is the matter? 
When the governor faintly exclaims Cassio has mor- 
tally wounded him, Othello sternly reproves his 
lieutenant for fighting and frightening the islanders 
whose nerves are still on edge. Then, becoming 
aware of Cassio's condition, he demands an explana- 
tion from Iago, who states the gentlemen were ami- 
cable until a moment ago, when, without cause, they 
suddenly drew swords and began to fight! This 
statement so rouses Othello's wrath that he then and 
there dismisses his lieutenant from his service, al- 
though he confesses he loves him. He has barely 
pronounced this sentence when Desdemona appears. 
Incensed to think her rest has been disturbed, he 
becomes even more severe to the delinquent, and 
tries to soothe her and lead her away. 

.Left alone with Cassio, Iago enquires whether he 
is hurt, only to hear him moan he has lost his reputa- 
tion, the ' immortal part of himself ! ' Callously 
assuring him such a trifle is not worthy of considera- 
tion, Iago palliates his drunkenness, bids him scheme 
to recover Othello's favour, and offers himself as 
advocate, slyly suggesting that Desdemona also be 



70 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

enlisted to plead in his behalf. Thoroughly humili- 
ated, Cassio departs, promising to put Iago's good 
advice into immediate practice, for he, too, fancies 
that, if the virtuous Desdemona will only plead his 
cause, he can yet obtain Othello's forgiveness. 

After his dupe has gone, lago prides himself on 
the manner in which he has acted the villain's part, 
adding that, when Desdemona intercedes for Cassio, 
he will make it appear she is in love with the courte- 
ous lieutenant and faithless to her swarthy husband. 
By such insinuations he proposes to poison Othello's 
ears until he makes him suspicious of his wife, whose 
virtue is to be turned ' into pitch,' for it is ' out 
of her own goodness ' that the villain intends to 
weave ' the net that shall enmesh them all.' 

He is just brooding over this fiendish design, when 
Roderigo re-enters, crossly stating most of his money 
has been spent on tokens, entrusted to Iago's care, 
for Desdemona. After this night's experience he 
knows he will have to leave Cyprus without funds, 
but lago heartens him up, assuring him that things 
will soon take a more favourable turn. Having 
pacified and dismissed Roderigo, lago decides to 
persuade his wife to intercede with Desdemona in 
Cassio's behalf, and then gradually bring the Moor 
to suspect his lieutenant of loving his wife. So the 
act closes with the words, ' Ay, that's the way : dull 
not device by coldness and delay.' 

Act III. The third act opens before the castle, 
where Cassio has brought musicians to serenade 
Othello and Desdemona, in hopes of making his 
peace. After exchanging witticisms with them, a 



Othello 71 

clown dismisses the musicians in Othello's name, 
while Cassio, approaching him, beseeches him to in- 
form Emilia he wishes to speak to her. The clown 
having departed, Iago appears, and Cassio confides 
to him he is following his advice and trying to ob- 
tain an interview with Desdemona. Under pretence 
of helping him, Iago goes to summon his wife, prom- 
ising meanwhile to divert the Moor's attention long 
enough to enable Cassio to bespeak Desdemona's 
intercession. • This officiousness so touches Cassio 
that he vows he never saw a kinder or more honest 
man, before Emilia joins him, reporting that Des- 
demona has already spoken in his behalf. Because 
he now humbly sues for an interview with Desde- 
mona, Emilia leads him into the house. 

In the next scene we see Othello entrusting letters 
to Iago, to forward to the senate, before he goes to 
inspect the fortifications with the Cyprian officers. 

Meanwhile, in the garden, Desdemona promises to 
do her best for Cassio, a promise Emilia approves, 
adding that the lieutenant's disgrace grieves Iago as 
sorely as if it were his own. To cheer the dejected 
officer, Desdemona playfully assures him she will 
allow Othello no rest until he has reinstated him. 
Cassio is just taking leave of Desdemona by kissing 
her hand, when Othello reappears with Iago, whose 
portentous, * Ha! I like not that,' causes him to 
wonder whether it was not Cassio who parted from 
his wife? Virtuously assuring him Cassio would 
never steal away at his approach with so guilty a 
look, Iago watches Desdemona draw near her hus- 
band, and begin to plead for Cassio's forgiveness. 



72 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

When she assures Othello that his former lieutenant 
departed in so humble a mood that he really should 
recall and forgive him, the Moor absent-mindedly 
promises to do so some other time, and tries to dis- 
miss the question. But she coaxes for a more definite 
answer, murmuring at last that she would not hesi- 
tate to grant a favour, especially in behalf of a man 
who so often came wooing with him ! These tender 
reminders and entreaties prove so efficacious that 
Othello says Cassio can come whenever he likes, and 
he will deny her nothing. Still, as his tone is con- 
strained, Desdemona does not feel satisfied, and goes 
off reluctantly when he bids her leave him to himself. 
After she has gone, Othello avers he loves her so 
dearly that chaos will come again when he ceases to 
believe in her ! His loving soliloquy is, however, soon 
interrupted by Iago's return and insinuating en- 
quiry whether Cassio knew of their love and was 
present at their wooing? The unsuspecting Othello 
answers frankly, but Iago artfully refuses to be 
more definite, until he has succeeded in rousing 
jealous suspicions. When, turning fiercely upon him, 
the general finally bids him give the ' worst of 
thoughts the worst of words,' the villain, still pre- 
tending to think the best and shield the guilty, vir- 
tuously declares he would not for his ' manhood, 
honesty, or wisdom,' let Othello know his thoughts! 
Angrily summoned to explain what this means, the 
hypocrite insinuates that those who steal his purse 
steal trash, ' but he that filches from me my good 
name robs me of that which not enriches him, and 
makes me poor indeed.' 



Othello 73 

Having thus paved the way, Iago warns Othello 
against ' the green-eyed monster ' jealousy, ' which 
doth mock the meat it feeds on,' until the Moor, 
who has never before felt its pangs, fervently prays 
to be delivered from them, adding that he has no 
cause to entertain any such a feeling, since the fact 
that his wife is beautiful, loves company, and is ad- 
mired, does not detract in any way from her virtue. 
Because Desdemona chose him from a number of 
suitors, he nobly vows, * I'll see before I doubt; when 
I doubt, prove,' a decision Iago apparently approves, 
although he hints Venetian women are prone to 
deceive, and that since Desdemona tricked her father 
she may do the same by her husband. Then, still 
pretending to urge his master to lay no stress upon 
remarks which involuntarily escaped him, Iago takes 
leave of Othello, who proudly reiterates Desdemona 
is honest, and that he is not troubled by what he has 
heard. Still, that Iago's crafty lies have not been in- 
effectual, is proved by Othello's despairing query 
as soon as alone, why he married, and his bitter 
comment that honest Iago doubtless knows more than 
he is willing to reveal! 

Othello has barely come to this conclusion when 
Iago returns, to insinuate that should Desdemona 
prove importunate in her prayers for Cassio's rein- 
statement, it would prove she feels deeply interested 
in him. After he has gone, therefore, Othello again 
praises Iago's honesty, mournfully adding that 
should his present suspicions be confirmed, he will 
have nothing more to do with his wife, his love being 
based solely on her virtue. This conclusion is 



74 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

hardly reached when Desdemona enters with 
Emilia, and seeing how beautiful and innocent she 
looks, Othello groans that ' if she be false, O, then 
heaven mocks itself ! ' 

Having come to remind Othello of the banquet 
pending, and seeing he appears weary, Desdemona 
tenderly enquires what ails him; then, attributing 
his headache to lack of sleep, she gently binds her 
handkerchief about his brow. He, however, angrily 
tears it off, and dashes it on the floor, where it 
remains, while the startled Desdemona follows him 
meekly out of the room. Snatching up the fallen 
handkerchief, Emilia expresses delight at securing 
it, for her husband has frequently begged her to 
steal it for him. Although unaware of his purpose, 
she is so glad to ' please his fantasy ' that, when 
lago enters, she playfully informs him she has some- 
thing for him. Then, after some coquettish delay, 
she bestows the handkerchief upon her spouse, en- 
quiring what use he wishes to make of it, and 
warning him that Desdemona will sorely miss her 
husband's first gift. 

Emilia having left the room, cautioned to keep 
the matter secret, lago explains how he intends to 
drop this handkerchief in Cassio's room, knowing 
* trifles light as air are to the jealous confirmations 
strong as proofs of holy writ.' He thinks he can 
thereby increase the jealousy of the Moor, who now 
enters, and in regard to whom he mutters with 
fiendish glee, ' not poppy, nor mandragora, nor all 
the drowsy syrups of the world, shall ever medicine 
thee to that sweet sleep which thou ownedst yester- 



Othello 75 

day.' It is plain Othello is still brooding over 
Iago's words, for suddenly hissing he is on the rack, 
he demands to know all. The mere thought that 
Cassio has been making love to his wife so poisons 
all his pleasures, that he mournfully declares his 
occupation is gone, and unable to bear further sus- 
pense, fiercely demands convincing proof of Des- 
demona's guilt. 

With pretended reluctance Iago now relates how, 
sleeping with Cassio lately, he overheard him talk 
about Desdemona in terms which left no doubt con- 
cerning their guilty intimacy. This narrative so hor- 
rifies Othello that he threatens, ' I'll tear her all to 
pieces,' and then suggests it was but a dream, for his 
wife cannot be as guilty as appearances indicate. 
Artfully, Iago enquires whether she does not own 
a certain handkerchief, and after Othello has ad- 
mitted giving it to her, testifies he saw Cassio using 
it that very day. This seems so conclusive a proof 
of infidelity, that Othello swears he will avenge him- 
self without mercy, an oath Iago slavishly repeats, 
devoting himself ' wit, hands, heart, to wrong'd 
Othello's service ! ' Such devotion is immediately 
rewarded by the coveted appointment as lieutenant, 
in exchange for which boon, Othello bids Iago kill 
Cassio within three days' time, undertaking mean- 
while to dispose of Desdemona, whom he terms a 
'fair devil!' 

The next scene occurs before the castle, where 
Desdemona and Emilia bid the clown go and tell 
Cassio that Othello has been placated and all will 
soon be well. The clown having disappeared after 



76 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

some witticisms, Desdemona questions Emilia in 
regard to her missing handkerchief, vowing she 
would sooner have lost a purse full of gold, and 
adding that were her husband not noble-minded, he 
might wax jealous or deem her neglectful. When 
Emilia enquires whether Othello is really not jealous, 
Desdemona confidently rejoins ' the sun where he 
was born drew all such humours from him,' and 
seeing her husband draw near, gladly dismisses her 
attendant. 

She is surprised, however, when her loving greet- 
ing is answered in a constrained way, and when 
Othello groans in an aside that it is hard to dis- 
semble. Suddenly seizing her hand, he exclaims it is 
a good one, whereupon she gently reminds him it 
gave her heart into his keeping. Then she recalls 
his promise in regard to Cassio, although Othello, 
pretending not to hear her, begs for her handker- 
chief, as he has a cold. The one she proffers fails to 
satisfy him for he insists upon her producing the one 
he gave her, which he describes as endowed with 
magic powers. His cautions never to lose this treas- 
ure disquiet Desdemona, who, after promising to be 
careful of it, renews her plea in Cassio's behalf. To 
gain time she coquettishly pretends to consider all his 
enquiries for the handkerchief artful evasions, until 
her persistency whets her husband's jealousy to such a 
pitch that he leaves the room in a fury. This be- 
haviour is so identically that of a jealous man that 
Emilia comments upon it, while Desdemona admits 
she never saw anything of the kind in Othello be- 
fore. She is just wondering where the handker- 



Othello 77 

chief may be, whose loss is causing her so much 
trouble, when Cassio reappears. 

After answering her greeting, he groans he longs 
to be reinstated, and when Desdemona sadly volun- 
teers, ' my lord is not my lord,' seems surprised to 
hear Othello's humour has so strangely altered. 
While Desdemona feels sure something must have 
occurred to displease her husband, Iago — who joins 
them — declares that cannot be, and offers to go and 
discover what marred the general's equanimity. 
After he has gone, Desdemona remarks her husband 
may have had news from Venice, for she feels sure 
weighty matters only can thus disturb an even mind. 
She further reproaches herself for lack of sympathy, 
until Emilia assures her that, if jealousy has not 
caused her husband's wrath, all will soon be well. 
Because she has never given Othello the least cause 
to doubt her love, Desdemona feels certain he can- 
not be jealous, although Emilia wisely assures her 
such a feeling requires no cause. Finally, Desdemona 
leaves the room to seek her spouse once more, bid- 
ding Cassio linger in the vicinity, and assuring him 
that, if Othello is in a -favourable mood, she will 
renew her efforts to obtain his pardon. 

While Cassio lingers there alone, the courtesan 
Bianca steps in to enquire why he has deserted her 
for the past week ? After replying his mind has been 
too distracted to permit of any dalliance, Cassio 
hands her the handkerchief Iago dropped in his room, 
and bids her copy its exquisite design. Believing it 
a token from some fair lady, Bianca feigns reluctance, 
until Cassio promises to join her at supper, when she 



78 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

goes away, leaving him to wait for the general and 
be reinstated in office. 

Act IV. The fourth act opens before the castle, 
where Iago is still trickling vile suspicions into his 
master's mind, by reiterating his lies in regard to 
the handkerchief, until Othello fiercely demands 
what he means? In reply, the villain's revelations 
assume so base a character that the jealous husband 
finally falls in a trance. While he is lying there, 
unconscious, Iago exclaims that his poison is work- 
ing, for credulous fools are often caught in this way, 
and ' many worthy and chaste dames even thus, all 
guiltless, meet reproach.' 

He is trying to revive Othello when Cassio comes 
in, and is told the general has had two fits since 
yesterday and should never be disturbed when in a 
lethargic state. Having thus dismissed Cassio, Iago 
watches until Othello opens his eyes, gasping that he 
has been wounded in his deepest affections. While 
apparently trying to comfort him, Iago fiendishly 
drives the sting still deeper into his tortured soul. 
Finally, he advises Othello to watch his wife when 
with Cassio, declaring their conduct will plainly 
reveal whether they are guilty. Under pretext of 
aiding his master, he further offers to discuss the 
matter with Cassio, bidding Othello hide and watch 
the lieutenant's face while he relates his amours with 
Desdemona. After agreeing to this, Othello with- 
draws, while Iago, in a soliloquy, cunningly de- 
cides to question Cassio in regard to Bianca, mean- 
time allowing the hidden Othello to think they are 
discussing Desdemona! 



Othello 79 

A moment later, seeing Cassio enter, Iago begins 
to twit him about his passion for Bianca, a woman 
so little deserving respect that the lieutenant does 
not hesitate to talk lightly of her, imitating her 
wiles, and by such pantomime kindling fierce jeal- 
ousy in the hidden Othello's heart. The watched 
dialogue continues until the return of Bianca, who 
pettishly flings the handkerchief at Cassio, vowing he 
obtained it from some sweetheart. The token, how- 
ever, is immediately recognised by Othello, who feels 
convinced Iago has told the truth and his wife has 
tricked him. Meantime, Bianca flounces out, ex- 
claiming that, unless Cassio sup with her to-night, 
she will never receive him again! Perceiving her 
wrathful state, Iago advises Cassio to follow her, 
lest she denounce him openly in the street, and is 
delighted to hear him decide to accept her invitation. 

When Cassio has gone, Othello steals out of his 
hiding-place, grimly wondering how to put his rival 
to death. To add fuel to his wrath Iago cun- 
ningly reviews the supposed points of their conversa- 
tion, enquiring whether his master saw how Cassio 
laughed, and marked the handkerchief? It is, how- 
ever, no longer necessary to stimulate Othello's rage, 
for it has reached such a pitch that he is determined 
to kill Desdemona, although he does not know what 
means to employ. First, he bids Iago procure poison, 
then, dreading its effect on his wife's beauty, he 
eagerly seizes the suggestion that he strangle her in 
bed, leaving Iago the care of disposing of Cassio. 

At that moment trumpets peal, and when Othello 
enquires what they mean, he is informed his wife's 



80 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

uncle is bringing news from Venice, just as he enters 
the apartment with her. After exchanging greetings 
with Othello, Desdemona's uncle delivers his letter, 
which the general respectfully kisses, and while he 
gravely peruses it, Desdemona welcomes the people 
in her uncle's train and begs for news. One of the 
newcomers asking for Cassio, Othello so grimly re- 
joins ' he is alive ' that Desdemona feels compelled 
to explain her husband and the lieutenant are at 
present estranged, but she hopes her uncle will soon 
effect a reconciliation. Although apparently ab- 
sorbed in his letter, Othello, hearing what she says, 
mutters comments which finally attract their atten- 
tion; and when his wife innocently states she would 
do much ' for the love ' she bears Cassio, he sud- 
denly gives vent to so angry an oath that Desdemona 
gazes anxiously at him, until her uncle whispers that 
the letter summons him home, and appoints Cassio 
in his stead. Because this news pleases Desdemona, 
Othello's fury waxes so violent, that when she steps 
forward with a gentle remark, he roughly strikes 
her, an act of cruelty so horrifying to the bystanders 
that they exclaim it would not be credited in 
Venice. 

Perceiving she has displeased her husband in some 
mysterious way, the weeping Desdemona offers to 
withdraw, a humility her uncle approves, although 
he urges Othello to beg her pardon for his rough- 
ness. Scornfully complying, Othello orders Desde- 
mona out of the room, declaring he will hand over 
the command to Cassio after he has entertained the 
company at supper. Because he leaves the room in 



Othello 8 1 

an unmistakable passion, Desdemona's uncle wonders 
that so self-contained a man should show such rage 
merely because his services are no longer needed in 
Cyprus! Turning to Iago, Lodovico then enquires 
whether Othello is insane, whereupon the villain 
pretends it would not be proper for him to speak, 
urging the Venetian, however, to watch the gen- 
eral's actions, and adding, ' you shall observe him, 
and his own courses will denote him so that I may 
save my speech.' Thus the Venetian deputation 
withdraws, full of regret to have been so mistaken 
in regard to Othello's character. 

In the next scene Othello is cross-questioning 
Emilia, to discover whether she ever saw anything 
suspicious between Cassio and her mistress. In- 
variably present at every interview, Emilia vows 
she has never seen anything amiss ; but, although she 
is ready to stake her soul on Desdemona's purity, 
Othello merely concludes she is paid to keep a 
guilty secret. Bidding Emilia summon his wife, the 
Moor next forces Desdemona to look him straight in 
the eyes, and when she quails at his angry brow, 
orders Emilia to mount guard at the door, and warn 
them should any one approach. Left alone with her 
husband, Desdemona sinks on her knees, vowing that 
while she perceives fury in his words and glances, 
she cannot guess its cause. In answer to Othello's 
fierce, breathless questions, she gently assures him 
of her fidelity, assurances he evidently does not be- 
lieve, since he furiously terms her ' false as hell.' In 
her despair, Desdemona implores him to state how 
that may be, and then, fancying he attributes his 



82 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

recall to her father's enmity, begs him not to blame 
her for that. When Othello passionately rejoins he 
could have borne any other affliction — shame, pov- 
erty, captivity, — but cannot brook becoming ' a fixed 
figure for the time of scorn to point his slow unmov- 
ing finger at,' she wonderingly enquires whether he 
can doubt her honesty ? This innocent question only 
causes him to berate her harshly, in spite of her gentle 
protests, until Emilia returns. After rewarding 
her for watching, Othello stalks out in wrath, leav- 
ing her to assist her fainting mistress. But, on 
raising Desdemona, Emilia finds her so dazed that 
she can only moan she has no husband left! Then, 
her grief being too deep for tears, yet seeking com- 
fort, she bids her attendant deck her bed with her 
wedding-sheets and summon Iago, orders which 
Emilia hastens to fulfil, marvelling the while at 
the sudden change of relations between a once loving 
couple. 

Meantime, Desdemona wonders why Othello has 
treated her thus, since she has given him no cause for 
displeasure, and when Iago appears, she brokenly 
gasps that those who teach babes do it gently. Hear- 
ing Emilia explain that Othello has insulted his 
wife, and pity her mistress for forsaking father, coun- 
try, and friends, only to be treated thus, Iago bids 
Desdemona cease weeping, assuring her she must be 
mistaken. But, when his wife excitedly avers some 
insinuating rogue has devised this slander, he hypo- 
critically declares it quite impossible, and shows no 
emotion even when Desdemona brokenly exclaims 
' if any such there be, heaven pardon him.' His 



Othello 83 

wife, however, less ready to forgive, grimly declares 
a halter would be the just reward for baseness which 
could coin such accusations as this, and that which 
once roused his jealousy. In dread of exposure, 
Iago tries to silence his wife, until Desdemona im- 
plores him to tell her by what means she can regain 
Othello's love, averring that, no matter how unkind 
he may be, she will never show him aught save wifely 
devotion. She is, therefore, a trifle comforted, when 
Iago assures her Othello is merely troubled by mat- 
ters of state. 

Hearing trumpets summon them to the banquet, 
Desdemona and Emilia leave the room, where Rod- 
erigo soon appears to demand of his confederate 
Iago an account of the money and jewels entrusted 
to his keeping for Desdemona. Of course, none of 
these tokens have ever reached their destination, and 
when Roderigo insists upon their return or some 
sign of favour, Iago realises his thefts will soon be 
discovered. Nevertheless, he protests he has dealt 
honestly, and promises a favourable outcome of the 
whole affair, provided Roderigo will again aid him. 
Then he informs his dupe of Cassio's appointment, 
adding that Othello and Desdemona are bound for 
Mauritania, whence they will never return. This 
news blasts Roderigo's hopes, until Iago suggests 
that were Cassio only removed, Othello would have 
to remain, and urges Roderigo to attack the lieu- 
tenant on his way home from supper, promising 
that between them they will soon dispose of this 
man whom they have good reasons for slaying. 

The Venetian senators are just taking ceremonious 



84 Stories of Shakespeare' s Tragedies 

leave, when Othello whispers to Desdemona to retire 
quickly, so he can find her alone when he returns 
from escorting their guests. After his departure, 
Emilia comments he seems gentler than a while ago, 
and Desdemona is elated because he wishes to see 
her alone. In her haste she bids Emilia help her 
disrobe, enquiring whether she has decked her bed 
with the wedding sheets, one of which is destined 
to serve as her shroud? While undressing, she is 
somehow reminded of an insane girl, whose quaint 
song seems to haunt her, for she softly hums it now 
and then. Then she queries whether itching eyes 
forbode weeping, and wonders whether wives ever 
proved unfaithful? When Emilia sagely avers such 
things have been, the horrified Desdemona demands 
whether she would commit such a crime for the sake 
of the whole world, and refuses to credit her when 
she states she might do it for the sake of bestowing 
such wealth upon her spouse. When Emilia adds, 
however, that women have often proved faithless 
merely to repay their husbands in kind, and that ' the 
ills we do, their ills instruct us so,' the pure Des- 
demona finds such reasoning incredible, and goes out 
praying heaven ' such uses send, not to pick bad from 
bad, but by bad mend ! ' 

Act V. The fifth act opens in a street in Cyprus 
at night, just as Iago is directing Roderigo to hide 
behind a wall and deal Cassio a deadly blow, assur- 
ing him this deed ( makes us, or mars us ! ' Thus 
stationed in ambush, Roderigo adjures his fellow- 
conspirator to remain close by and finish the work 
in case he does not complete it; but, after Iago has 



Othello 85 

retired to some distance, the youth admits he has 
no desire to commit this crime, notwithstanding 
Iago's ' satisfying reasons.' 

On his part, Iago gleefully murmurs that he has 
stirred the young soldier to wrath, and that whether 
he kill Cassio or vice versa, equal gain will redound 
to him, for he argues that, should Roderigo live, he 
will be compelled to restore his tokens, and that the 
* daily beauty ' in Cassio's life, is a tacit rebuke 
and makes him dread he may yet reveal the plot and 
thus imperil his life. 

This double soliloquy is interrupted by the appear- 
ance of Cassio, whom Roderigo attacks, but whose 
coat of mail protects him so effectively that he turns 
and deals Roderigo a mortal wound. Stealing up 
from behind, Iago now slashes Cassio's leg, and flees as 
he sinks,calling for aid. These loud cries soon attract 
the attention of Othello, who, recognising Cassio's 
voice, and feeling sure Iago has disposed of his foe, 
marches grimly on, praising this doughty deed which 
nerves him to do his part. 

Shortly after Othello follow the Venetian visitors, 
who, hearing cries, hesitate to approach, lest they 
fall in an ambush. While they are deliberating, 
Iago rejoins them with a light, enquiring with pre- 
tended innocence what this clamour means? Recog- 
nising his voice, Cassio begs for aid, and all present 
seem amazed at his sorry plight. When he re- 
lates how he was attacked by a villain, Iago, 
who has been prowling around and has found 
Roderigo still alive, suddenly deals his associate 
a deadly thrust, to prevent any revelation of 



86 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

his share in the attack. Sinking beneath this cow- 
ardly blow, Roderigo dies cursing Iago, who loudly 
accuses him of attempting murder. The confusion 
reaches its height when Bianca, rushing forward, 
wails over Cassio's injuries, while friends bind up 
his wound and call for a chair. Although most 
active in all measures of relief, Iago craftily con- 
trives to draw the attention of the rest to the fact 
that the courtesan is startlingly pale, and probably 
had a hand in this affair. 

The wounded and dead have barely been removed 
when Emilia, rushing up with enquiries, learns that 
Cassio is wounded, and Roderigo, his assailant, slain. 
While she bewails this death, Iago sanctimoniously 
ascribes the trouble to Cassio's fast life, and casts 
such accusations upon Bianca that his wife loudly 
reviles her. Then he bids Emilia run home and 
report what has happened, while he attends to Cas- 
sio's wounds. No sooner has she gone, however, 
than the villain mutters ' this is the night that 
either makes me or fordoes me quite,' before he 
hurries off. 

The next scene is played in Desdemona's dimly- 
lighted bedroom, where she lies asleep, while Othello 
murmurs he is about to do what is just, although he 
has not the courage to shed a drop of her blood or 
mar the purity of her snow-white skin. Unable to 
commit a deed of darkness while the light shines, 
Othello extinguishes it, commenting how easily a 
candle can be relighted, while no power on earth will 
ever restore light in his wife's eyes after it is once 
extinguished. Then, comparing Desdemona to a 



Othello 87 

rose, he so passionately kisses her that she awakens, 
sleepily asking whether he is coming to bed ? When 
he replies by an enquiry whether she has said her 
prayers, muttering he will not kill her unprepared 
lest he slay her soul as well as her body, he so ter- 
rifies her, that she implores him not to kill her, 
pleading, ' guiltiness I know not.' 

Although Othello hoarsely bids her remember her 
sins, Desdemona truthfully rejoins the greatest con- 
sisted in forsaking her father to follow him, and 
adds that it is unnatural he should slay her for loving 
him too much. Then, hearing him gasp an accusa- 
tion in regard to the handkerchief she gave Cassio, 
she denies it, innocently suggests the lieutenant may 
have found it, and entreats her husband to ques- 
tion him. Hearing this, Othello mutters that Cas- 
sio has confessed, and that his mouth is stopped for- 
ever by his order. His sinister expression, even more 
than his words, so terrifies Desdemona that she wails 
Cassio has been betrayed and she is undone. This 
sorrow and her tears soon work Othello up to such 
a pitch of fury that, without further ado, he stifles 
her in bed ! 

Her struggles are just ceasing when Emilia knocks, 
and Othello, perceiving his wife is not quite dead, 
gasps he is too merciful to let her linger in pain. It 
is in the midst of his renewed efforts to smother her 
that Emilia's cries for admittance are heard, but only 
when sure his wife is dead does Othello prepare to 
let her in, knowing she will report Cassio's murder. 
Lest she should discover the crime he deems black 
enough to cause ' a huge eclipse of sun and moon,' 



88 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

Othello carefully draws the bed curtains, ere he 
admits her. 

Breathlessly, Emilia reports Roderigo's murder 
and Cassio's wound, news which infuriates Othello, 
who would fain have heard that Cassio was slain. 
Just then, a moan from the bed startles Emilia, who, 
darting forward and discovering her mistress' sad 
plight, loudly calls for aid, wondering who can have 
done this terrible deed? Her cries rouse the dying 
Desdemona, who, in a last attempt to serve her 
husband, gasps she slew herself, and leaves her love 
to Othello with the message ' a guiltless death I die.' 
But, unwilling to profit by such devotion. Othello 
hisses she is going down to Hades a liar since he 
killed her! At this confession, Emilia wonders how 
he could commit so black a deed, and when he tries to 
justify himself by accusing Desdemona of infidelity, 
demands how he learned it ? Hearing Othello quote 
Iago, Emilia scorns the accusation and pronounces 
Desdemona a model of virtue. When Othello ex- 
claims that had she been true he would not have 
exchanged her for a world ' made of one entire and 
perfect chrysolite,' Emilia retorts that, if her husband 
accused Desdemona of infidelity, he is a villain, and 
calls so frantically for aid that the whole household 
assembles, including the governor and Venetian am- 
bassadors. 

Perceiving her husband among the crowd, Emilia 
summons him to give the lie to Othello, who avers 
he accused Desdemona of breaking her marriage 
vows. When, instead of denying this charge, Iago 
admits it, his wife vehemently ejaculates, ' you told a 



Othello 89 

lie, an odious, damned lie; upon my soul, a lie, a 
wicked lie,' wailing that on the strength of such a 
falsehood her mistress has been slain ! These tidings 
horrify the bystanders, but although Iago terms his 
wife insane and tries to silence her, she insists he is 
responsible for it all. Hearing this, the spectators 
urge her to speak, while Othello, already half con- 
vinced of his wife's innocence, falls prone upon the 
bed, moaning in despair. Unmindful of his evident 
grief, Emilia accuses him of killing * the sweetest 
innocent that e'er did lift up eye,' words which sting 
him to gasp that Desdemona was false, and he bound 
to avenge his honour. 

This statement causes the uncle to exclaim it is 
well Brabantio died of sorrow over his daughter's 
elopement, as such news as this would have caused 
him cruel suffering. Meanwhile, Othello insists 
that Iago knew of the guilt of his wife and of Cassio, 
since he too saw the handkerchief! Although Iago 
forcibly tries to silence her, Emilia now proclaims 
how she stole the handkerchief at her husband's re- 
quest, little suspecting the use he would make of it. 
Othello no sooner hears these words than seized with 
revengeful fury, he rushes forward to slay Iago, 
although the latter brazenly denies Emilia's accusa- 
tion. While the bystanders seize and disarm 
Othello, Iago, after stabbing the wife who betrayed 
him, flees. Emilia now faintly begs to be laid by 
her mistress' side, while the governor gives orders 
for Iago's capture, and places a guard to prevent 
Othello's escape or his commission of further crimes. 

Left alone in the death chamber, Othello sees 



90 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

Emilia softly caress her dead mistress, and hears her 
repeatedly assure him ' she loved thee, cruel Moor ! ' 
This assertion of his wife's innocence finally drives 
him to such despair that he searches wildly for 
another weapon, because he does not wish to live any 
longer. 

Entering a moment later, the Venetian is amazed 
to find Othello armed with a dagger, with which he 
assures him he could cut his way through a host of 
foes! He adds, however, that he has no desire to 
escape, and turning to his dead wife, murmurs that 
the cold look upon her face will hurl his ' soul from 
heaven.' Then, in his remorse, he calls down upon 
his head all manner of torments, and moans over 
Desdemona's corpse. 

At this juncture a number of people bring in the 
wounded Cassio, and Iago, who has just been cap- 
tured. At their call Othello slowly rises from the 
bed, and although they try to restrain him, deals a 
wound to the villain Iago. Still, he soon declares 
he is glad this is not mortal, for he would have him 
live and suffer, and considers death the greatest boon. 
His wild talk startles the Venetian senators, who 
cannot understand how so good a man became the 
tool of a vile slave. They are, however, silenced on 
learning Iago has confessed his crimes, and on hearing 
Cassio loyally protest that Othello had no cause for 
suspicions. After begging his former lieutenant's 
pardon, Othello grimly enquires why Iago ensnared 
his soul and body? But the villain refuses to an- 
swer, although the bystanders remind him torture 
may unlock his tight-closed lips. Then a senator 



Othello 91 

produces letters found in Roderigo's pocket, one of 
which reveals the plot against Cassio, while the 
other, — addressed to Iago, — exposes his villainy. 
Hearing this, Othello demands how Cassio obtained 
his wife's handkerchief, and is stricken with remorse 
on learning he merely picked it up in his room, 
where, as he has just heard, Iago dropped it to 
compass his evil designs. 

On perceiving how sorely he has been fooled and 
Cassio wronged, Othello gives way to mad grief, 
until the senators bid him accompany them to Venice 
where his fate will be decided. Pleading for a mo- 
ment's grace, Othello bids them testify he served 
Venice faithfully, adding that, although he sinned, he 
1 loved not wisely but too well,' and that his jealousy, 
— not easily roused, — drove him to extremities. He 
ends his peroration by stating that just as he once 
slew one of his country's foes, he will now kill him- 
self, and after dealing himself a mortal wound, drags 
himself to Desdemona's side, moaning, ' I kiss'd thee 
ere I killed thee: no way but this; killing myself, 
to die upon a kiss,' and falls lifeless across the bed. 

All present are horrified, and Cassio gasps he 
feared this, knowing Othello's great heart, yet hoped 
that, having no weapon, he would not be able to 
compass his death. Turning upon Iago, whom he 
reviles as ' Spartan dog,' the Venetian ambassador 
bids him gaze upon the tragic load of that bed ; then, 
placing one of his companions in charge of the house, 
he orders the Cyprian governor to enforce the law 
upon Iago, adding that he will return immediately to 
Venice to relate this ' heavy act with heavy heart.' 



HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK 

Act I. The first act opens on a platform before 
the castle of Elsinore, just as an officer, on his rounds 
at night, nervously starts on meeting a sentinel 
who challenges him. This officer has come to re- 
lieve guard, so the sentinel, glad to leave a cold 
post, reports nothing has occurred to disturb him. 
The officer dismisses him, bidding him hasten the 
movements of two of his friends, just as they ap- 
pear. In reply to the challenge, they give the 
countersign, and, when the sentinel is gone, one of 
them, — Marcellus, — mysteriously enquires whether 
1 this thing appeared again to-night ? ' He adds that, 
deeming what they saw a mere delusion, Horatio 
has come to share their watch, determined to ad- 
dress the apparition should it return. Sitting on the 
parapet, the officer and Marcellus now graphically 
describe to Horatio what they saw twice running, 
and while talking perceive the spectre of the dead 
king ! 

Urged by his companions, Horatio addresses this 
apparition, which stalks away without answering, 
while his friends, more familiar with its appearance, 
comment upon his trembling limbs and startled 
looks. Confessing he would not have believed it 
had he not seen it, Horatio pronounces its resem- 
blance to the deceased king remarkable, and when 

92 



Hamlet, Prince of Denmark 93 

his companions repeat this is its third visit, he 
opines it ' bodes some strange eruption to our state.' 
Because his friends eagerly enquire the cause for some 
warlike preparations afoot, Horatio explains that 
the former king won, from Fortinbras of Norway, 
lands which his son is trying to recover. This 
seems cause enough to disturb the spirit of the de- 
ceased, especially as Horatio reminds his friends 
what great portents were seen before Caesar's death. 

He is interrupted by the return of the Ghost, 
whom he beseeches to speak, promising to do any- 
thing ' that may to thee do ease and grace to me.' 
He adds that if the Ghost knows of any danger to 
the country, or has buried a secret hoard, he had 
better speak. Just then the cock crows, and the 
spectre vanishes, although all three men try to seize 
and hold it. Still, Marcellus admits it is wrong 
to offer violence to anything so majestical, while 
the others declare the Ghost was about to speak when 
the cock crowed. Horatio, however, claims that 
spectres can walk only until ' the trumpet to the 
morn ' wakes ' the god of day,' an opinion confirmed 
by both his friends. Finally Horatio suggests that 
they impart what they have seen to Hamlet, in whom 
perchance the spectre will more readily confide, a 
decision which all three approve ere they depart to 
seek the prince. 

The next scene is played within the castle, where 
the new monarch declares that although sorrowing 
for a brother's death, he deemed it best to marry 
his widow immediately, postponing to some more 
auspicious moment all mirthful adjuncts of the wed- 



94 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

ding. He adds that, taking advantage of the change 
of dynasty, young Fortinbras demands the return 
of the lands his father lost, and, under cover of his 
uncle's old age and infirmity, is collecting forces 
for war. To warn the aged monarch of Norway of 
the trouble brewing, the king proposes to despatch 
two courtiers, whom he summons, instructs, and 
watches out of sight. Then turning to Laertes, the 
king enquires what suit he wishes to urge, graciously 
promising to grant it, as ' the head is not more 
native to the heart, the hand more instrumental to 
the mouth, than is the throne of Denmark to thy 
father.' 

Thus encouraged, Laertes expresses a desire to 
return to France, whence he came for the corona- 
tion festivities. After ascertaining that Polonius, — 
Laertes' father, — is willing his son should leave, the 
king grants this permission, then, turning to his 
stepson Hamlet, queries what he can do for him, 
and why he appears so sad? The prince mutters 
the king is ' a little more than kin, a little less than 
kind,' but vouchsafes no more explicit reply, where- 
upon his mother entreats him to doff his mourning, 
reminding him that ' all lives must die, passing 
through nature to eternity.' To this Hamlet re- 
joins that the outward signs of woe, — which he 
enumerates, — signify little, but that he has ' that 
within which passeth show.' On hearing this the 
king, after praising his filial devotion, reminds him 
that ' to persevere in obstinate condolement is a 
course of impious stubbornness; 'tis unmanly grief; 
it shows a will most incorrect to heaven.' He bids 



Hamlet, Prince of Denmark 95 

the prince henceforth consider him father, but adds 
that instead of allowing him to return to Witten- 
berg, he has decided to keep him ' here, in the cheer 
and comfort of our eye, our chiefest courtier, cousin, 
and our son.' His mother adding her entreaties, 
Hamlet consents to remain; whereupon the king, in 
token of satisfaction, proclaims a drinking bout, where 
every time a toast is carried, the cannon shall peal. 
All follow the regal party off the scene, except Ham- 
let, who, in a wonderful soliloquy, wishes ' this too 
too solid flesh would melt, thaw, and resolve itself 
into a dew! Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd 
his canon 'gainst self-slaughter ! ' The world seems 
' weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable ' to him, for 
he cannot conceive how his mother, having been 
wedded to one he enthusiastically compares to Hy- 
perion, could in the course of one brief month trans- 
fer her affections to a satyr. His pessimistic con- 
clusion is ' frailty, thy name is woman ! ' for the 
wicked haste with which these second nuptials have 
been consummated breaks his heart, although he 
must hold his tongue. 

Just then Horatio and the officers enter in quest 
of him, and converse with him for a while about 
Wittenberg, whence Horatio came to attend the 
old king's funeral. With bitter sarcasm, Hamlet 
wonders whether it was not rather to attend his 
mother's wedding, and when Horatio admits the 
two events followed each other very closely, sarcas- 
tically adds that, for thrift's sake, the ' funeral 
baked meats did coldly furnish forth the marriage 
tables.' When he adds he thinks he sees his father, 



96 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

Horatio, — having so recently beheld the spectre, — 
questions him eagerly, only to hear him declare it 
is merely ' in his mind's eye.' After mentioning 
the apparition, Horatio, in reply to Hamlet's 
startled interjections, relates how the Ghost twice 
visited the men on the watch, how he joined them 
the third time, and how the spectre was about to 
speak when a crowing cock summoned him back 
to the nether world ! This account so amazes Ham- 
let that he plies all three men with close, breath- 
less questions, which they answer most convincingly. 
The prince, sure at last they really saw his father's 
spirit, bids them keep the matter secret, promising 
to join them on the platform at night; then, his three 
companions gone, Hamlet resumes his soliloquy, de- 
claring there must have been some crime, for ' foul 
deeds will rise, though all the earth o'erwhelms 
them, to men's eyes.' 

The next scene is played in Polonius' dwelling, 
where Laertes informs his sister Ophelia he is about 
to depart, and begs her often to send him news. 
Next he cautions her to attach no importance to 
Hamlet's attentions, which he attributes to mere 
fancy, and reminds her that on the prince's choice 
1 depends the safety and health of this whole state.' 
For that reason he thinks it is imperative Hamlet 
should conclude a political alliance, and bids Ophelia 
not heed his blandishments, warning her that ' vir- 
tue itself 'scapes not calumnious strokes,' a caution 
she promises to heed. But, in her turn, she now 
recommends him ' do not, as some ungracious pastors 
do, show me the steep and thorny way to heaven; 



Hamlet, Prince of Denmark 97 

whiles, like a pufFd and reckless libertine, himself 
the primrose path of dalliance treads, and recks not 
his own rede.' 

After assuring Ophelia she need feel no fears for 
him, Laertes greets his father, who, in a wonderful 
speech, gives his son a string of worldly precepts, — 
the epitome of parental good advice, — every clause 
of which has become a familiar quotation. This 
speech concludes with the well-known ' to thine own 
self be true, and it must follow, as the night the 
day, thou canst not then be false to any man,' ere he 
bestows his blessing upon Laertes, who departs. 

The father having overheard part of his chil- 
dren's conversation, now inquisitively asks Ophelia 
what Laertes said of Hamlet, adding that, although 
the prince has shown her much attention of late, he 
would have her consider what she calls ' tenders of 
affection,' mere politeness. He further pronounces 
Hamlet too young for his wooing to be serious, and 
makes his gentle daughter promise to have as little as 
possible to do with him hereafter. 

We now return to the platform, where Hamlet 
arrives with Horatio and Marcellus, just after 
twelve has struck. The night silence is broken only 
by salvoes, which Hamlet attributes to the king's 
wassail, a custom that gives the Danes an unenviable 
reputation abroad, and which would be ' more hon- 
our'd in the breach than the observance.' It is while 
he is disserting upon this theme, that his compan- 
ions suddenly call his attention to the spectre, which 
reappears. After the involuntary invocation, 
'angels and ministers of grace defend us;' Hamlet 



98 Stories of Shakespeare } s Tragedies 

addresses the Ghost, imploring him to reveal why 
he is revisiting the earth and ' making night hid- 
eous ? ' Instead of answering, the Ghost moves on, 
but Horatio and Marcellus see it beckon Hamlet 
away, as if to hold a private conference with him. 
Afraid lest their friend may run into danger, they 
try to detain him; but, heedless of warnings, Ham- 
let rushes off, threatening to make a ghost of any 
one who tries to detain him! When the spectre 
and Hamlet have vanished in the darkness, both 
young men decide to follow, for they feel sure 
1 something is rotten in the state of Denmark.' 

In another part of the platform we see again the 
Ghost and Hamlet, just as the spectre bids the prince 
note his words, for he has but a short time to linger 
above ground, — so short that instead of wasting any 
of it in pity, Hamlet is urged to avenge his father, 
whose spirit seeks him for this purpose only. In 
a wonderful speech, the Ghost then avers he ' could 
a tale unfold,' which would harrow his son's soul, 
freeze his young blood, make his eyes ' start from 
their spheres,' and ' each particular hair to stand 
on end, like quills upon the fretful porcupine.' 
Still, as it is not a hearing for his sufferings, but 
an avenger for his murder, he is anxious to secure, 
the Ghost states that, although it was published 
the king was slain by the bite of a venomous snake, 
while sleeping in his orchard, he was in reality killed 
by his brother. Then he describes how the present 
king of Denmark, inflamed with love for Hamlet's 
mother, poured a deadly poison in his ear, and a 
month after his decease married his widow. Al- 



Hamlet, Prince of Denmark 99 

though calling upon Hamlet to avenge his death, 
the spectre cautions him ' taint not thy mind, nor let 
thy soul contrive against thy mother aught: leave 
her to heaven, and to those thorns that in her bosom 
lodge, to prick and sting her.' Then, perceiving 
signs of coming dawn, the Ghost bids Hamlet fare- 
well, and vanishes, crying, 'Adieu, adieu! Hamlet, 
remember me.' 

Staggered by what he has seen and heard, the 
prince wonders body and soul do not dissolve, but 
vows he will forget all save the task his father 
imposed, to avenge his murder upon the man who 
can ' smile, and smile, and be a villain.' To make 
sure not to forget any item, he notes down the 
Ghost's words, just as his companions, who have been 
vainly seeking for him, rush upon the scene. He 
answers their exclamations and questions in such 
enigmatical terms that they are sorely mystified; 
then, deeming it wise all should go about their busi- 
ness, Hamlet adds the request that they keep secret 
all they have seen and heard. Although his friends 
readily consent to this, he requires them to take 
an oath upon his sword, starting nervously when a 
voice from the depths, bids them in sepulchral tones 
' swear.' 

Afraid of eavesdroppers, Hamlet makes them 
change position, until realising they are dealing 
with a ghost, he exclaims ' there are more things in 
heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in 
your philosophy,' and bids the tortured spirit rest. 
Then he bids the young men take a solemn pledge 
of secrecy, and parts from them with the despair- 



ioo Stories of Shakespeare' s Tragedies 

ing cry, 'the time is out of joint: O cursed spite, 
that ever I was born to set it right ! ' 

Act II. The second act opens in Polonius' 
house, just as he is giving money and instructions to 
a servant bound for Paris to find out how young 
Laertes is behaving. In the course of conversation, 
Polonius artfully suggests to the servant to use ' the 
bait of falsehood ' to discover what he wishes, thus 
initiating him in a secret of diplomacy. The man 
dismissed, Polonius questions Ophelia, who informs 
him Hamlet recently sought her in disarray, look- 
ing ' as if he had been loosed out of hell to speak 
of horrors.' When the father wonders whether 
these are not signs of the madness of love, Ophelia 
describes how the prince approached her, sighed, 
wrung her hand, and went away, still gazing mourn- 
fully at her. Because such behaviour convinces 
Polonius Hamlet is suffering from ' the very ecstasy 
of love,' he bids his daughter come with him to the 
king, to tell him all about it, assuring her love often 
1 leads the will to desperate undertakings,' and that 
her obedience has had greater effect than he antici- 
pated, since it has driven Hamlet mad ! Father and 
daughter leave the room, therefore, to seek the king 
and impart all they know or suspect in regard to 
lovelorn Hamlet. 

The curtain next rises in the palace, where king 
and queen welcome Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, 
his majesty telling them they have doubtless heard 
of Hamlet's eccentricities, which can only be ascribed 
to sorrow for his father's death. Knowing they 
were the prince's fellow-students, he bids them try 



Hamlet, Prince of Denmark 101 

and cheer him, and especially discover, if possible, 
* whether aught, to us unknown, afflicts him thus, 
that open'd, lies within our remedy.' The queen 
adding her entreaties to those of the king, both 
young men assure their majesties of their readiness 
to serve them, ere an attendant is summoned to con- 
duct them to Hamlet, to whom they hope their 
presence and practices may be pleasant and helpful. 

A moment after they have gone, Polonius reports 
to the king that the ambassadors have returned from 
Norway with good news, and that he has discovered 
the cause of Hamlet's lunacy. Still, he implores 
the king to receive the ambassadors first, and when 
told to introduce them, hastens out in quest of them, 
while the monarch informs his wife that the source 
of her son's distemper has been found, although she 
sagely attributes it to his father's death and their 
' o'erhasty marriage.' Before she can add any 
more, however, the ambassadors enter, reporting 
that the aged king of Norway not only checked his 
nephew's plans, but wrung from him a promise 
to employ his forces against the Polacks and not 
against the Danes. They are commissioned, how- 
ever, to request that those forces may pass through 
Denmark, a permission the king immediately grants. 

After they have gone, seeing the king and queen 
eagerly await his disclosures, Polonius, after a wordy 
preamble, exclaims that ' since brevity is the soul of 
wit,' their son is mad ! Then, after some digres- 
sion on insanity, he reveals how Ophelia received 
verses, — which he produces, — in which Hamlet ad- 
dresses her as his ' soul's idol.' Sundry poems like 



102 Stories of Shakespeare* s Tragedies 

this have been sent to the young lady, who, enjoined 
by her father, has revealed to him all. When the 
king enquires whether Ophelia is in favour of the 
prince, Polonius virtuously rejoins he knows his 
place too well to covet such an alliance for his 
daughter, adding that he has instructed Ophelia to 
meet all the prince's advances with extreme reserve. 
He fancies it is this very coldness which has un- 
settled Hamlet's wits, and offers to prove it by 
hiding with the king and watching the young 
people meet. 

Because Hamlet now approaches in disordered 
array, reading a paper, Polonius begs the royal 
couple to leave him alone with the youth, and the 
rest having gone, begins a dialogue with him. But 
Hamlet gives such distracted answers to the coun- 
sellor's questions, that Polonius is surer than ever 
he is mad. When Hamlet abruptly mentions his 
daughter, he takes this as proof his madness is due 
to unrequited love. Still, some of Hamlet's re- 
marks contain so much sense that Polonius ex- 
claims in an aside, ' though this be madness, yet 
there is method in't.' After some more conversa- 
tion, he goes off in quest of his daughter, while 
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern draw near, and are 
kindly welcomed by Hamlet, who exchanges playful 
remarks with them. Then he suddenly asks why 
they came to Denmark, which he terms a prison. 
When they intimate they came to visit him, Hamlet 
realises their majesties have sent them to discover 
the cause of his melancholy. Although he volubly 
answers all their remarks, his companions, unable to 



Hamlet, Prince of Denmark 103 

find out anything, yet hoping to divert him, inform 
him players are coming to court. This news greatly 
interests Hamlet, who asks many questions in regard 
to these actors before their arrival is announced. 

After calling a welcome to the players, Hamlet 
bitterly informs Guildenstern * his uncle-father and 
aunt-mother are deceived,' and intimates he is not 
entirely mad since he can still distinguish the flight 
of birds, and can even discriminate between ' a hawk 
and a hand-saw.' Just then Polonius reenters, and 
Hamlet whispers to Rosencrantz that the ' great 
baby ' they behold, ' not yet out of his swaddling 
clothes,' has come to tell them of the players' 
arrival. His prediction is verified, for Polonius 
immediately launches into a panegyric of the actors' 
talents, in regard to which Hamlet makes jeering 
comments which his hearers misinterpret. Then the 
players reenter, and Hamlet, after greeting them by 
name, draws one apart, mentioning a speech he once 
made, which particularly pleased him although 
* 'twas caviare to the general.' By quoting bits of 
familiar parts, Hamlet so stimulates this actor that 
he gives an example of the histrionic art of the time, 
working himself up to the pitch of shedding real 
tears, like the character he impersonates. When 
most of the actors follow Polonius out of the room, 
Hamlet, in a quiet aside, arranges that this man 
shall interpolate in the play he has chosen, a few 
extra lines which he promises to furnish for him in 
good season. 

This settled, the actor joins his companions, and 
Hamlet, after dismissing his friends, muses how 



104 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

strange it is that a man should so well simulate a 
passion he did not feel as to weep real tears, while 
he, who has ' motive and the cue for passion,' is 
such a coward and villain that he dares not execute 
his vengeance! He murmurs that in order to make 
sure a crime has been committed, he intends to have 
the actors represent the very scene the Ghost nar- 
rated (which occurs in an old play) and watch its 
effect on his guilty uncle, triumphantly conclud- 
ing ' the play's the thing wherein I'll catch the 
conscience of the king.' 

Act III. The third act opens in the castle, 
where their majesties question Rosencrantz and 
Guildenstern in regard to Hamlet's abstraction, and 
are disappointed that he did not confide in them, 
although he treated them with marked courtesy. 
When asked if they suggested some diversion, these 
young men joyfully report the arrival of the 
players, Hamlet's keen interest in them, and the 
fact they are to give a representation this evening. 
This news is confirmed by Polonius, bringing their 
majesties an invitation from the prince, which they 
joyfully accept, urging the young men to continue 
cheering Hamlet. When they have gone, the king 
tenderly begs his wife leave him alone with Polonius, 
for they wish to watch an encounter between Ham- 
let and Ophelia, so as to determine whether the 
prince is love-mad or not. As anxious as they to 
solve this problem, the queen withdraws, imploring 
Ophelia to play her part cleverly, and exclaiming 
that, if love is at fault, Hamlet can soon be cured! 

Following paternal direction, the girl now takes 




F. Stiele 



HAMLET AND THE GRAVE-DIGGERS 



Ham. "That skull had a tongue in it, 
and could sing once," 



Hamlet. Act 5, Scene 1. 



Hamlet, Prince of Denmark 105 

a book and paces up and down the gallery, while 
the king, — in a guilty aside, — comments upon her 
father's remarks. When sounds of footsteps are 
heard, king and counsellor vanish behind the hang- 
ings, just a moment before Hamlet appears on the 
stage, pronouncing his famous soliloquy, ' To be or 
not to be : that is the question ' ; wherein he debates 
a vital matter in lines which are the boast of Eng- 
lish literature. At the end of his speech, suddenly 
becoming aware of Ophelia's presence, he addresses 
her gently, until she offers to return his tokens and 
keepsakes, sadly stating ' to the noble mind rich 
gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind.' In his 
wrath, Hamlet's talk now becomes very odd. When 
he exclaims he once loved her, she admits he made 
her believe it; although he immediately declares she 
never should have done so! Then he roughly bids 
her go into a nunnery, depicting himself and all 
other men as ' arrant knaves.' When, in answer to 
a question regarding her father, Ophelia replies he 
is at home, Hamlet exclaims Polonius should be 
locked up, so he could play the fool nowhere else, 
adding a speech which seems so insane to Ophelia 
that she pitifully prays Heaven to restore his senses! 
After another enigmatical speech, Hamlet leaves 
Ophelia, who bewails the overthrow of his noble 
mind, which reminds her of ' sweet bells jangled, out 
of tune and harsh.' Just then the king and Polon- 
ius emerge from their hiding-place, the former at- 
tributing the prince's madness not to love but to 
melancholy. To cure it, he determines to send the 
prince to England to demand the tribute, hoping a 



io6 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

sea journey will dispel this cloud. Not only does 
Polonius approve this plan, but suggests that, after 
the play, Hamlet's mother try to worm her way into 
her son's confidence; while she does so, he proposes 
to listen, so as to report all they say to the king. 

The next scene represents the hall of the castle, 
as Hamlet ushers in the actors, bidding one of them 
recite the lines he has given him without mouthing 
them or trying ' to out-herod Herod " — the King of 
the Jews being at the time the greatest ranter on the 
stage. These stage directions reveal an intimate 
knowledge of histrionic art, and for that reason have 
served as actors' directions ever since. While the 
players vanish to prepare for their parts, Hamlet is 
joined by Polonius and the two young men, from 
whom he enquires whether their majesties are com- 
ing to view the play? While the youths hasten off 
to summon them, and Polonius goes to hurry the 
players, Hamlet has the opportunity to inform 
Horatio that, considering him a just man and true 
friend, he bespeaks his aid. He adds that the play 
to-night is to represent his father's death, and that 
he wishes him to watch both king and queen closely 
so as to detect any signs of guilt which may appear. 
This scheme appeals to Horatio, who promises to 
keep his eyes open, as the audience begins to appear. 

The formal entrance of king and queen is followed 
by the courteous exchange of greetings between them 
and the prince. Then Hamlet addresses Polonius, 
who plumes himself upon having played the part 
of Julius Caesar while at the university. Although 
the queen invites Hamlet to sit at her feet, he 



Hamlet, Prince of Denmark 107 

places himself near Ophelia, remarking to his 
mother ' here's metal more attractive.' Then he 
plunges into a very Elizabethan conversation with 
this young lady, remarking when she comments 
upon his gay spirits, that he has every cause to be 
merry, seeing his mother is so joyful although his 
- father died within these two hours ! ' In surprise, 
Ophelia contradicts this statement, reminding him 
that event is already two months old, ere the music 
begins, accompanying a dumb-show presentation of 
the coming play. 

In pantomime a loving royal couple part in a 
garden, where the sleeping king is soon surprised 
by a poisoner, who, after stealing his crown, pours 
venom into his ear. The queen, on returning, finds 
her spouse dead, but in the midst of her grief, ac- 
cepts gifts from the poisoner and then his hand. 
Unable to grasp the meaning of this dumb-show, 
Ophelia begs an explanation from Hamlet, who 
mysteriously bids her listen to the prologue. Only 
three lines however, introduce the play, and as they 
merely bespeak the audience's patience, Ophelia is 
not much enlightened. 

But the rising curtain, reveals the play-king con- 
gratulating himself upon having been happily mar- 
ried thirty years, years which his spouse assures 
him have been sweet and happy for her. When the 
king adds that being the elder, he will soon have 
to leave her a widow, and mentions the fact she may 
marry again, she indignantly denies all such inten- 
tion, virtuously declaring ' none wed the second but 
who kill'd the first,' words whose effect upon their 



io8 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

majesties Hamlet keenly notes. Meantime, the play 
goes on, the royal actors smoothly acting their parts, 
and protesting undying affection for each other. 
Finally the play-queen withdraws, leaving her hus- 
band to rest, and Hamlet, turning abruptly, asks his 
mother how she likes what she has seen. Coldly 
remarking ' the lady doth protest too much, me- 
thinks,' she avoids all further reply, while the king 
enquires what the plot is, only to be told by his 
stepson it * is the image of a murder done in 
Vienna.' 

Just then a new actor appears on the scene, whom 
Hamlet designates as a nephew of the play-king, 
adding that the poison he holds is of such potency 
that a few drops in the monarch's ear will end his 
life. Even while Hamlet is explaining the action 
on the stage, his uncle suddenly rises and leaves the 
room. Deeming him ill, Polonius calls for lights, 
orders the play suspended, and most of the courtiers 
leave the hall, but Hamlet idly hums snatches of 
song, and discusses with Horatio the effect of this 
representation upon the king. Finally, Hamlet calls 
aloud for music to end the entertainment, just as 
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern join him, reporting 
the king angry and the queen sending for him in 
' most great affliction of spirit.' Hamlet sarcas- 
tically comments upon their message, while the play- 
ers produce their instruments. Then, seizing these, 
he suddenly begins talking about them, explaining 
glibly that it ' is as easy as lying ' for experts to 
handle the stops, subtly intimating that his friends 
have not the required skill to play upon his feelings. 



Hamlet, Prince of Denmark 109 

This by-play is interrupted by Polonius' repeating 
the queen's summons to Hamlet, who still pays no 
heed, but calls the bystanders' attention to the shape 
of the clouds. To humour what they consider in- 
sane fancies, Polonius and the rest agree with all 
he says, until the prince comments upon his friends' 
pliancy, shrewdly remarking ' they fool me to the 
top of my bent.' But, when they have left him, 
nerved by ' the very witching time of night,' he pre- 
pares to join his mother ' and speak daggers to her, 
but use none.' 

In another room in the castle, the king, convers- 
ing with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, announces 
he is about to send Hamlet to England with them, 
deeming it unsafe to keep a madman so near his per- 
son. Both young men again promise to do their 
best to lure the prince out of his melancholy mood, 
ere they leave to prepare for the journey. 

Joining his master, Polonius now reports Hamlet 
on his way to visit his mother, adding that he will 
listen to them from behind the arras. As the king 
approves of this eavesdropping, Polonius hurries off, 
while his majesty bewails his offence, which is so 
1 rank, it smells to heaven.' His sense of guilt, and 
of the unforgivableness of his crime, so weighs upon 
him, that longing to be reconciled to Heaven, he 
retires to pray, although he still has no intention of 
making atonement. 

Meanwhile Hamlet comes in, and seeing the king 
on his knees, is seized with a desire to avenge his 
father's death on the spot. But, suddenly remember- 
ing his parent had no time to make his peace with 



no Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

Heaven, he decides to postpone his vengeance until 
some moment when he can catch the villain revel- 
ling in crime. Instead, therefore, of drawing his 
sword upon the unconscious king, Hamlet steals 
out again in quest of his mother, while the monarch 
slowly rises from his knees, ruefully exclaiming, 
' my words fly up, my thoughts remain below : words 
without thoughts never to heaven go.' 

The next scene is played in the queen's closet, 
where Polonius instructs her what to say and do, 
before vanishing behind the arras. On entering, 
Hamlet finds his mother apparently alone, and, 
when she remarks he has offended his father, bluntly 
retorts she has offended him still more. This re- 
joinder is resented by the queen, who, finding all 
her reproofs caught up in the same way, and alarmed 
by her son's wild looks, suddenly calls for help. 
This cry being echoed by the hidden Polonius, Ham- 
let madly stabs him through the arras, under the 
hysterical impression he is slaying his father's mur- 
derer, and thus effecting the promised revenge! 
When the fall of Polonius causes the queen to ex- 
claim in horror, Hamlet coolly informs her it is no 
worse to kill a king than marry his brother, and 
then, raising the hangings and discovering the slain 
man, he sadly comments, ' I took thee for thy better.' 
Turning to his mother, Hamlet bids her sit down 
while he ' wrings her heart,' which, in spite of her 
protests, he proceeds to do in the coldest-blooded 
fashion, by setting forth the heinousness of her crime 
for which she had no shadow of an excuse. So 
graphically is it brought before her that the queen 



Hamlet, Prince of Denmark in 

cringes before her son, wailing his words have 
entered her ears like daggers! It is at this moment 
the spectre reappears, and Hamlet, seeing him, as- 
sures him he has not forgotten his injunctions. 
Meanwhile, his mother, noticing he stares at some- 
thing she cannot see, deems him insane, a belief 
which is strengthened by his trying to make her 
see the Ghost, too; but it vanishes, just as she ex- 
claims, ' This is the very coinage of your brain.' 

After imploring his mother to repent, and ' as- 
sume a virtue' if she has it not, Hamlet expresses 
deep regret for Polonius' death; then he bids the 
queen farewell, saying he must start for England 
with his comrades, whom he is as little inclined to 
trust as ' adders fang'd,' and whom he fully intends 
to ' hoist with their own petar,' for he has dis- 
covered they bear sealed orders. The curtain falls 
just as Hamlet draws away Polonius' corpse to dis- 
pose of it. 

Act IV. The fourth act opens in the castle, 
where the king wonders why his wife sighs so deeply. 
After Rosencrantz and Guildenstern have been dis- 
missed, she says it is because Hamlet is mad, as he 
has proved by slaying Polonius, who was hiding in 
her room. More convinced than ever of the danger 
of leaving Hamlet free, the king exclaims they must 
place him under restraint, or they will regret it. 
Then he wonders how he can account for the coun- 
sellor's death, which he fears may be laid at his 
door, and enquires where the unfortunate prince is 
now? When the queen describes Hamlet, weeping 
in solitude over his crime, the king decides to ship 



112 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

him off immediately, and summoning the two young 
men, bids them convey Polonius' corpse to the chapel, 
while he and his wife impart to their friends what 
has occurred, and consult with them how to prevent 
further misfortunes. 

Hamlet is muttering that the corpse is safely 
stowed away, when the two young men draw near 
calling his name. On entering, they demand what he 
has done with the body, and refuse to believe him 
when he grimly retorts he has " compounded it 
with dust, whereto 'tis kin.' As he refuses to be 
more explicit, and dubs them ' sponges ' because they 
' soak up the king's countenance, his rewards, his 
authorities,' they deem him really mad and soon 
withdraw. 

In another room, the king, talking to himself, 
awaits their return with the corpse. Finally one of 
them enters empty-handed, reporting the body can- 
not be found, and that, as the prince will give them 
no satisfaction, he is now at the door, guarded by 
his companion. Giving orders to admit Hamlet, the 
king sternly demands of him where Polonius may 
be, and is startled to be briefly informed ' at supper,' 
until Hamlet adds a grim description of the feast the 
worms are having, and of the mutations human flesh 
can undergo! Unable to obtain what he considers 
a sensible answer from the prince, the king finally 
orders a search for the corpse, announcing that 
Hamlet must prepare immediately to sail for Eng- 
land. Unresisting, the prince bids him farewell, 
terming him ' mother,' a title he considers justifiable 
since husband and wife are one flesh. When he has 



Hamlet, Prince of Denmark 113- 

gone, the king charges both young men to watch 
closely over him, and sail without delay, exclaiming 
when they have gone, that if England wishes to 
please him, Hamlet will soon be put to death, and 
he will thus be able to enjoy the fruits of his 
crime. 

The curtain next rises on a plain in Denmark, 
where Fortinbras, marching with his troops, sends a 
captain to secure the king's conveyance across his 
realm. This force moves out of sight, before Hamlet 
appears, and, gazing at the vanishing army, enquires 
of the Captain what it is, and whither bound ? The 
Norse Captain replies that his master is on his way 
to recover ' a little patch of ground that hath in it 
no profit but the name,' and Hamlet, shrewdly 
perceiving the real import of these words, dismisses 
him. When his companions implore him to follow 
them, he promises to do so shortly and, left alone, 
soliloquises that ' all occasions do inform against 
me, and spur my dull revenge ! ' Still, with a father 
slain and a mother dishonoured, he feels it wrong 
not to act, yet hesitates to do the bloody deed he 
has been called upon to perform. Hoping to nerve 
himself for it, he prays ' from this time forth, my 
thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth.' 

In a room in the castle we next overhear the 
queen asked to grant an interview to Ophelia, whose 
reason has evidently been unsettled by her father's 
sudden death. Seeing the queen's reluctance, Hora- 
tio urges her to speak to the poor girl, lest she 
' strew dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds.' 
Thus reminded of appearances, the queen orders 



1 1 4 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

Ophelia admitted, and Horatio hastens out to get 
her. But, instead of answering her majesty's kindly 
questions, Ophelia chants snatches of song, looking 
so distracted that the queen, in pitying horror, points 
her out to the king when he comes in. He, too,, 
tries to soothe and question the maiden, but receives 
nothing save chanted or irrelevant replies, until, all 
at once, Ophelia calls for her coach, and taking 
ceremonious leave of an imaginary audience, goes 
away. 

Bidding Horatio follow to see no harm befalls 
her, the king turns to his wife, mournfully declar- 
ing, ' when sorrows come, they come not single spies, 
but in battalions,' and adds that this is one result of 
Polonius' murder. He is so haunted by fears, that 
he declares ' this, like to a murdering-piece, in many 
places gives me superfluous death,' just as a sudden 
noise startles him, and makes him nervously call for 
his guards. But, instead, a gentleman bursts in with 
the tidings that young Laertes, heading some mal- 
contents, is advancing, hailed everywhere by the 
cry ' Laertes shall be king! ' Before their majesties 
can grasp what this means, a tumult is heard in the 
palace itself, and Laertes appears with his followers, 
whom he bids tarry at the door, while he demands 
his father of the king. When the queen admonishes 
him to be calm, Laertes hotly declares that is impos- 
sible, and looks so threatening that the monarch re- 
minds his wife of the ' divinity doth hedge a king.' 
Then, hearing Laertes reiterate a demand for his 
father, the king informs him Polonius is dead. 
When the queen tremblingly adds that her husband 



Hamlet, Prince of Denmark 115 

is not responsible for this death, Laertes accuses 
them both of trying to deceive him and grimly vows 
he will be avenged. 

The king pronounces these sentiments praise- 
worthy, and has just repeated he is not to blame 
for Polonius' death, when their attention is diverted 
by Ophelia's reentrance. On beholding his de- 
mented sister, Laertes wails aloud that it is strange 
a young maid's wits should be as easily destroyed 
as an old man's body! Meanwhile, Ophelia sings 
snatches of song, her wild actions adding to her 
brother's fierce longing for revenge. Then she 
distributes the flowers she has gathered to those 
around her, with such pretty speeches that her 
brother wails she turns ' thought and affliction, pas- 
sion, hell itself,' ' to favour, and to prettiness.' 
After another weird ditty Ophelia passes out of 
the room, while Laertes calls God to witness this is 
a sad sight. The king, however, now prevails upon 
the excited youth to appoint friends to judge be- 
tween them, volunteering to forfeit title and estates 
should he be found guilty of Polonius' death. This 
offer is accepted by Laertes, who mutters his 
father's plain funeral is another matter to be ac- 
counted for ; but, after bidding him * let the great 
axe fall,' wherever he • finds offence,' the king suc- 
ceeds in leading him away. 

Meantime, in another room in the castle, a serv- 
ant approaches Horatio, announcing that recently 
landed seafarers wish to deliver letters addressed to 
him. While the servant goes in quest of these men, 
Horatio opines the missives can be from Hamlet only 



Ii6 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

since he has no other friend abroad. A moment later 
sailors enter, and after exchanging greetings, 
proffer the letter they received from ' the ambassador 
bound for England.' Upon opening this missive, 
Horatio discovers that the messengers bear letters 
to the king, that two days out at sea Hamlet and 
his companions were attacked by pirates, and that, 
having boarded their vessel, the prince was carried 
off by accident. The pirates have, however, treated 
him so mercifully that in exchange he proposes to 
do them a good turn; meanwhile, he implores his 
friend to join him, for he has matters of such mo- 
ment to impart that they will strike him dumb. 
As the letter concludes with the information that 
Guildenstern and Rosencrantz are continuing their 
journey to England, Horatio, fancying the king may 
be glad to have these tidings, leads the sailors away. 

Meantime, the king and Laertes have been hold- 
ing their momentous conference, and the curtain 
rises just as his majesty concludes that, after hearing 
all, Laertes can but hold him guiltless. He adds it 
was impossible to proceed against the real criminal 
in the manner Laertes suggests, without almost kill- 
ing Hamlet's mother, and that besides the Danes 
are so devoted to their prince that any arrow aimed 
against him would have rebounded on the sender! 
From all this Laertes sadly concludes he has lost 
both father and sister, yet must bide his time for 
the revenge which the king promises shall ultimately 
be his. 

Just then the messenger delivers the letters the 
sailors have brought for king and queen. On open- 



Hamlet, Prince of Denmark 117 

ing them, the king reads aloud how Hamlet has 
been ' set naked on his kingdom,' and will soon 
present himself to beg pardon and explain the rea- 
son for his return. These tidings sorely displease 
his majesty, who, with Laertes' help, scans every 
word, in hope of discovering some hidden meaning. 
Although unable to account for this news, his 
majesty persuades Laertes not to seek immediate 
revenge, but to be guided by him, promising to 
entice the prince to some exploit, ' under the which 
he shall not choose but fall,' for, although deter- 
mined to get rid of Hamlet, he does not wish to 
seem to have caused his decease. 

Having wrung from Laertes the required prom- 
ise, the king reveals how a skilled fencer recently 
so praised Laertes' skill that Hamlet became madly 
jealous. He intends to manipulate matters so 
cleverly that the prince will accept a challenge to 
fence with Laertes before the court, when he sug- 
gests that Laertes' rapier be unbuttoned. This 
scheme of revenge suits the youth, who further pro- 
poses to poison the point of his weapon, so that the 
least scratch will prove mortal, promising to play his 
part so skilfully that his father shall be avenged. 
The king promises that a poisoned drink shall also 
be ready to slake Hamlet's thirst, and thus further 
hasten his departure from this world. 

Just as this plan is settled, the queen comes in, 
pitifully announcing to Laertes that his sister is 
drowned! Then, gradually she reveals how, lean- 
ing upon a willow overhanging a stream (which she 
was decorating with flowers), the branch broke, hurl- 



1 1 8 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

ing Ophelia and her garlands into the water, where, 
upheld for a little while by her garments, she finally 
sank singing into a watery grave. 

Act V. The fifth act opens in the churchyard, 
where two grave-diggers at work comment upon 
Ophelia's death. They wonder whether it was due 
to suicide or accident, quote the coroner and the law, 
and come to the conclusion that, had Ophelia not 
been a gentlewoman, she would doubtless have been 
refused Christian burial. Not only do they extol 
their calling above all other, but propound conun- 
drums, until finally one goes for liquor as Hamlet 
and Horatio draw near. Because the sexton hums 
a tune, Hamlet deems him unfeeling, until Horatio 
reminds him how custom dulls one's senses. Soon 
the man throws up a skull with the dirt, and Ham- 
let pounces upon it, wishing it might speak. He 
adds that it may have belonged to some courtier, and 
is dilating on the subject to Horatio, when the man 
digs up a second skull, which the prince fancies may 
have belonged to a lawyer. After a while, Hamlet 
questions the grave-digger, who, after some am- 
biguous replies, admits he is digging a grave for a 
woman. Asked how long he has pursued this trade, 
he rejoins ever since Hamlet was born, adding rue- 
fully that the poor prince has been shipped to Eng- 
land because he was mad, although he deems such a 
voyage will scarcely benefit him, seeing all English- 
men are insane! When Hamlet questions how long 
it takes a corpse to resolve into dust, the sexton 
gives him some gruesome data, and picking up a 
skull, explains it once belonged to Yorick, the king's 



Hamlet, Prince of Denmark 119 

fool. Hamlet, who remembers Yorick as a fellow 
of ' infinite jest,' with whom he played as a child, 
comments upon this cranium, and finally asks Hora- 
tio whether great Alexander can have looked and 
smelled like that, setting it aside with disgust. The 
fact that ' imperious Caesar, dead and turn'd to 
clay, might stop a hole to keep the wind away/ 
serves as epilogue to the homily on death which 
Hamlet pronounces ere a funeral procession draws 
near. 

To his surprise, Hamlet recognises the royal cou- 
ple among the mourners, and soon concludes from 
the maimed rites that the corpse did ' foredo its own 
life.' Drawing aside with Horatio, he closely observes 
what's going on, and thus overhears Laertes demand- 
ing what other ceremonies can be used ? The priest 
compassionately informs the bereaved brother the ut- 
most has been done in allowing the corpse to rest 
in sanctified ground, instead of reposing outside, ex- 
posed to insult. But the mere mention of insult 
offered to Ophelia drives Laertes almost mad, and 
makes him hotly retort his sister will be ' a minister- 
ing angel,' while the priest lies howling in Hades! 
These remarks reveal to Hamlet it is Ophelia they 
are burying, just as the queen steps forward to 
strew flowers into her grave. Then, unable to part 
with such beloved remains without another embrace, 
Laertes springs down into the hole, wildly bidding 
them pile earth above them both! 

Excited by this example, Hamlet, — whose sense of 
loss is equally great, — suddenly leaps down into the 
grave, too, to dispute the possession of the corpse 



120 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

with Laertes. In his rage at facing his father's mur- 
derer and the unconscious cause of his sister's death, 
Laertes fiercely attacks Hamlet, and both young 
men wrestle madly until the attendants forcibly 
separate them by order of the king. Her majesty 
reproaching Hamlet for this unseemly demonstra- 
tion, the prince hotly rejoins he loved Ophelia more 
than ' forty thousand ' brothers, and challenges 
Laertes to outdo him in devotion to her. Softly 
imploring Laertes to remember the prince is mad and 
pay no attention to his speeches, their majesties, see- 
ing Hamlet now hurry off, beseech Horatio to follow 
him. Then, again whispering to Laertes, the king 
reminds him of their plot, promising to l put the 
matter to the present push,' ere he repeats the queen 
should have her son closely watched, and volunteers 
to erect a monument over Ophelia's grave. 

In a hall in the castle, Hamlet talking to Horatio 
alone, exclaims ' there's a divinity that shapes our 
ends, rough-hew them how we will,' and that, owing 
to this providence, he discovered while on shipboard 
that his companions were bearing sealed orders from 
the king. Having secured the packet from his sleep- 
ing fellow-travellers one night, Hamlet discovered it 
contained the order for his immediate execution, 
which he hands to Horatio. Having decided to meet 
treachery with treachery, he next describes how he 
replaced this letter by another, — ordering the bear- 
ers slain, — sealing it with the seal of Denmark 
which his father had given him, and replacing the 
packet where he found it, so no one could suspect 
it had ever been touched. On the very morrow 



Hamlet, Prince of Denmark 121 

occurred the piratical raid, in the course of which 
Hamlet was separated from his companions, whose 
* defeat does by their own insinuation grow.' Hor- 
rified by all he has learned of the king's crimes, 
Horatio cries out against him, warning Hamlet, 
however, that news from England will soon reveal 
the fact that he tampered with the sealed letter. 
Still, as the interim is his, Hamlet intends to use it 
to secure his ends. 

The entrance of the steward, — whom Hamlet 
mystifies by ambiguous remarks, — puts an end to this 
conversation, and starts another in a more playful 
vein. By setting this man at ease and inducing him 
to talk, Hamlet soon learns about the fencer's visit, 
of his extravagant praise of Laertes' skill, and of 
the king's wager the latter cannot get the better 
of Hamlet. When the messenger eagerly enquires 
whether Hamlet will accept such a match, the prince 
rejoins if Laertes will meet him in the hall, he 
will fence with him in presence of the court. De- 
lighted with this satisfactory answer, the man hur- 
ries off, but, after he has gone, Hamlet and Horatio 
comment upon his empty-headedness, until a lord 
comes in to enquire when the fencing-bout shall take 
place. Ready to consult the king's pleasure in this 
matter, Hamlet receives the lord courteously, even 
when he delivers a message from the queen im- 
ploring him to ' use some gentle entertainment to 
Laertes,' before beginning to fence. Finally, the 
lord goes off to assemble the spectators, while Hora- 
tio warns Hamlet he will lose in this wager, al- 
though the prince does not deem defeat possible, see- 



122 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

ing he has kept in constant practice. Nevertheless, 
Hamlet further betrays his fatalistic turn of mind, 
just as their majesties and train enter the hall, fol- 
lowed by servants, bearing foils and a table covered 
with refreshments. 

When the king bids both young men shake hands 
and be friends, Hamlet publicly declares that, if 
he wronged Laertes, his madness is to blame. 
Then both prepare to fence, while a servant hands 
them the foils, and his majesty mentions the con- 
ditions of the bout and the wagers staked upon it. 
Although Hamlet accepts the first foil offered him 
without demur, Laertes calls for a lighter one, 
while the king anxiously superintends the arrange- 
ment of the refreshments to be offered to the 
fencers between bouts. 

At a given signal the match begins, both young 
men showing great skill ere the first breathing spell 
occurs, when the king reveals his satisfaction by 
offering a pearl and drink to Hamlet. Not feeling 
thirsty, the prince pushes the cup aside without 
tasting it, and continues to fence, until his adversary 
admits he has been touched. The queen, after pro- 
nouncing her son ' fat and scant of breath,' offers 
him her handkerchief to dry his brow, and, feeling 
thirsty, catches up the cup he rejected, without 
heeding her husband, who tries to restrain her and 
exclaims in an aside that she has quaffed the poisoned 
drink! While she tenderly mops the perspiration 
from Hamlet's face, Laertes approaches the king, to 
whisper he will now touch his antagonist. Stealthily 
slipping off the button during the next encounter, 



Hamlet, Prince of Denmark 123 

he does wound Hamlet; but, in the midst of the 
scuffle, both fencers drop their weapons, and while 
hastily recovering them, Hamlet, by accident, seizes 
Laertes' foil, with which he now wounds him in 
his turn. Just as he is crying that the champions 
are incensed and must be parted, the king beholds 
the queen sink fainting to the ground. While at- 
tendants rush to her rescue, Horatio supports Ham- 
let, and a servant, discovering Laertes is wounded 
too, solicitously asks how he feels, only to hear him 
gasp, ' I am justly kill'd with mine own treachery.' 

Meantime, Hamlet shows deep concern for his 
mother, who, recovering her senses, gasps she is 
poisoned by the drink ere she expires! Calling for 
the doors to be locked until the poisoner is dis- 
covered, Hamlet is informed by Laertes that, 
wounded with a poisoned rapier, he, also, has not an 
hour to live. But although mortally hurt by the self- 
same weapon, Laertes still retains energy enough to 
accuse the king of poisoning the cup out of which 
the queen drank. 

To avenge his mother's death, Hamlet pierces 
the king with the poisoned rapier, and then, fearing 
he may yet escape, compels him to drink some of 
the drugged wine. A moment later the king ex- 
pires in agony, while the dying Laertes exchanges 
forgiveness with noble Hamlet. About to follow 
his former friend into the better world, Hamlet bids 
farewell to Horatio, charging him ' report me and 
my cause aright to the unsatisfied.' But Horatio, 
unwilling to survive him, and ' more an antique 
Roman than a Dane,' tries to drink what is left of 



124 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

the drugged wine, while Hamlet frantically strug- 
gles to prevent his doing so, imploring him to live 
and tell his story. 

Their generous dispute is interrupted by shouts 
and the sound of an advancing army, which a serv- 
ant exclaims is that of Fortinbras, coming with the 
returning ambassadors. Regretting not to live long 
enough to learn what tidings they bring, Hamlet 
appoints Fortinbras his successor, and dies exclaim- 
ing, ' the rest is silence.' 

His friend, opining * now cracks a noble heart,' 
hangs speechless over Hamlet's corpse, just as For- 
tinbras appears. Standing in the midst of the awe- 
struck court, Fortinbras wonders at the corpses he 
sees, while the English ambassador regrets not to 
be able to deliver a message, assuring the Danish 
monarch Guildenstern and Rosencrantz were exe- 
cuted as prescribed. 

Addressing Fortinbras and the ambassador, Hora- 
tio solemnly promises to explain all about ' the 
carnal, bloody, and unnatural acts,' which have 
finally ' fall'n on the inventors' heads.' Meantime, 
Fortinbras orders that Hamlet receive the honours 
due a brave soldier, and has the rest of the corpses 
borne away, while a dead march is played and a 
salute fired. 



ROMEO AND JULIET 

This play opens with a fine prologue, stating 
that two noble houses in Verona are at feud, and 
that in the course of a couple of hours we shall see 
what befell ' a pair of star-cross'd lovers,' from the 
time they first met until their tragic death put an 
end to their parents' strife. 

Act I. The first act opens on a square in 
Verona, where two Capulet retainers converse in a 
punning strain about the feud until interrupted by 
some Montagues, whom they decide to insult. In 
consequence a fight ensues, in the midst of which 
Benvolio, a Montague, hastens up and beats down 
the fighters' swords. While he is doing this Tybalt, 
a Capulet, approaches and defies him until he fights. 
This duel naturally occasions a clamour, and at- 
tracts spectators, including old Capulet, who fussily 
calls for his sword, although his wife deems a 
crutch would be a more appropriate weapon for an 
infirm man. Montague and his spouse also appear, 
and the former has just defied his rival, when Prince 
Escalus comes up with attendants. Not only does 
he compel the brawlers to throw down their 
weapons, but declares should further trouble oc- 
cur, death will be the penalty. Then he disperses 
the crowd until none remain upon the scene save 
Montague with his wife, and Benvolio, who graph- 
ically relates how the tumult arose. 

125 



126 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

The account is barely finished when Lady Mon- 
tague enquires for her son, expressing satisfaction 
he was not involved in this fray. Benvolio tells 
her Romeo was seen an hour before sunrise, seeking 
solitude in a grove. Having noticed such signs of 
perturbation in his son, old Montague vows he has 
vainly tried to discover its cause, just as Romeo 
draws near ; so, bidding the parents step aside and let 
him question the youth, Benvolio engages to discover 
the root of this melancholy. 

The parents gone, Benvolio accosts his cousin, and 
after a few remarks demands ' what sadness length- 
ens Romeo's hours?' Then, on discovering the 
youth is a victim of unrequited love, he bids him 
forget the lady he cannot win, although Romeo 
declares such a feat impossible. Certain that were 
he to examine other beauties, he would soon discover 
his lady-love less charming than he deems her, Ben- 
volio urges him to give ' liberty unto thine eyes.' 

In the next scene Capulet informs Paris, a kins- 
man of the prince, that the houses of Capulet and 
Montague are subject to equal penalties should they 
break the peace. Although the elders can easily re- 
spect the prince's order, he fancies it will be diffi- 
cult for the younger members of the families to do 
so, a fact which fails to interest Paris, who insists 
upon an answer to his suit for Juliet's hand. 

Because his daughter is under fourteen, Capulet 
tries to temporise, until Paris assures him many 
women in Verona have married earlier. Rejoining 
1 my will to her consent is but a part,' Capulet 
then suggests that Paris woo Juliet at the ball that 



Romeo and Juliet 12"] 

evening, where he will have opportunity to com- 
pare her with others, ' and like her most whose 
merit most shall be.' Turning to a servant, Capulet 
then hands him a list, bidding him notify the people 
on it to attend the ball that evening, adding 'my 
house and welcome on their pleasure stay.' 

When Capulet has passed ofr" the stage with Paris, 
the mystified servant stares at the paper, for, not 
knowing how to read, he is unable to carry out these 
orders until he finds out what names it contains. 
While he is in this quandary, Benvolio and Romeo 
stroll past, still arguing, and Benvolio states ' one fire 
burns out another's burning, one pain is lessen'd by 
another anguish,' as the servant accosts them. After 
an awkward preliminary, the man entreats Romeo 
to read him the list, so the youth good-naturedly 
rattles off the names, including that of the very 
lady he loves. When the man has gone, Benvolio 
suggests that as Rosaline, — object of Romeo's pas- 
sion, — will be at the ball, they should go thither 
in disguise, to compare her with the other beauties 
in town. The prospect of an evening near his be- 
loved proves too alluring for Romeo to refuse, al- 
though he feels sure none can outshine her, since 
' the all-seeing sun ne'er saw her match since first 
the world begun.' 

In a room in the Capulet mansion the mistress 
asks for her daughter. Loudly summoned by her 
old nurse, Juliet soon appears, submissively greeting 
her mother, who, to an enquiry whether she is not 
fourteen, receives a voluble answer which proves the 
accuracy of the nurse's memory. Silencing this 



128 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

loquacious woman, Lady Capulet states the time 
has come to think of Juliet's marriage, although the 
young lady herself has not dreamt of such an hon- 
our; but when Lady Capulet adds that Paris sues 
for her hand, the nurse expatiates on his charms un- 
til rebuked. Her communication made, Lady Capu- 
let leaves the room, bidding her daughter study that 
evening whether she wishes to accept Paris, and 
receiving her promise to ' look to like, if looking 
liking move.' 

In a street in Verona strolls Romeo attended by 
Mercutio, Benvolio, and a troop of gay maskers. 
When he wonders how they can account for their 
uninvited presence in the Capulet dwelling, Benvolio 
assures him they will not even be noticed. In his 
indifference, Romeo offers to act as torch-bearer, 
although his companions advise him to join in the 
dance; but in spite of their joking he remains sad, 
listening only half-heartedly to Benvolio's descrip- 
tion of the way the queen of the fairies haunts mor- 
tals' dreams. 

Transferred to a hall in the Capulet mansion, we 
see musicians waiting until their services are re- 
quired, and servants hurrying to and fro exchanging 
remarks. All at once Capulet appears, leading his 
daughter, to welcome the masked guests, play- 
fully stating that any lady refusing to dance will be 
suspected of suffering from corns! At his signal 
the music begins and the guests dance, Capulet 
looking on, for he is too old to take part in the 
revels, and prefers talking to an aged kinsman. 
These two are indulging in reminiscences when 



Romeo and Juliet 129 

Romeo, who has been lurking in a corner, detains a 
passing servant, to ask who the lady may be who is 
treading a measure close by? Although this man 
does not know her, Romeo, enraptured by her 
beauty, exclaims, ' she hangs upon the cheek of night 
like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear,' adding that he 
' ne'er saw true beauty till this night.' Fancying 
he recognizes a Montague voice, Tybalt now calls 
for his rapier, vowing that if one of their hated 
foes has forced his way in, it is in scorn for their 
solemnities! Hearing his nephew fume, Capulet 
demands what it means, and when informed of 
Romeo's presence, declares he will have no affray, 
but that as long as the guest behaves properly, he 
can remain unmolested. This decision so enrages 
Tybalt, that after some protest he withdraws, ex- 
claiming, ' this intrusion shall now seeming sweet 
convert to bitterest gall.' 

Unaware of the commotion his presence has 
caused, Romeo approaches Juliet, — the object of his 
admiration, — and gallantly addresses her in a play- 
ful vein to which she readily responds. After some 
exchange of compliments, he ventures to kiss the 
maiden, who, far from resenting such familiarity, 
would gladly have continued the conversation with 
him, had she not been summoned away by her nurse. 
In hopes of discovering who his fair interlocutor may 
be, Romeo detains this woman, who fussily informs 
him her mistress is the good, wise, and virtuous lady 
of the house, mother to the young lady, whom she 
nursed. Learning thus Juliet's origin, the horrified 
Romeo is about to rush out, when his friend Ben- 



130 Stories of Shakespeare* s Tragedies 

volio detains him, saying the sport is at its height. 
While they are talking Capulet passes through the 
room, and invites all his guests to partake of the 
banquet just served. 

Watching the maskers file out, Juliet begs her 
nurse tell her their names, pointing out last of all 
the man in whom she feels specially interested. On 
learning he is Romeo, ' the only son of your great 
enemy,' she wails in despair her ' only love ' sprang 
from her ' only hate ! too early seen unknown, and 
known too late ! ' before she withdraws with the 
nurse. 

Act II. In the prologue to the second act we are 
told that the young people, having fallen in love with 
each other, ' passion lends them power, time means, 
to meet, tempering extremities with extreme sweet.' 

Immediately after the ball, Romeo strolls down 
the lane beside the Capulet orchard, unable to go 
home because his heart lingers in this neighbour- 
hood. He has just climbed over the wall, and 
leaped down into the Capulet orchard, when his two 
friends call for him, wondering where he has gone? 
While Mercutio supposes he is off to bed, Benvolio 
feels sure he has climbed the orchard wall, so the 
former conjures his friend by all he holds sacred to 
answer or appear. Afraid lest Romeo may resent 
their banter, Benvolio finally draws Mercutio away, 
sagely declaring, ' 'Tis in vain to seek him here that 
means not to be found.' 

Overhearing his friends, Romeo murmurs, ' he 
jests at scars that never felt a wound,' ere he creeps 
forward until a light appears in a window above, and 



Romeo and Juliet 131 

affords him a lovely glimpse of the object of his adora- 
tion. In his rapture Romeo wishes Juliet were aware 
of his presence, and noticing how she leans on the 
window-sill, exclaims, * O, that I were a glove upon 
that hand, that I might touch that cheek! ' In the 
night's silence he finally catches Juliet's sigh and is 
beside himself with joy to hear her softly breathe his 
name, regretting he should be a Montague. While he 
hesitates whether to answer, she dreamily concludes 
a name is nothing, for ' that which we call a rose, 
by any other name would smell as sweet,' and 
wishes he would doff his distasteful appellation. 

Impetuously, Romeo swears he takes her at her 
word, and is new baptised, his voice so startling her 
that she timidly enquires who ' thus bescreen'd in 
night,' stumbles upon her counsel? Unwilling to 
pronounce a name hateful to her, Romeo vows he 
cannot answer, but although she has heard so few 
words from his lips, Juliet immediately recognises 
his voice. She wonders how he came thither, since 
' orchard walls are high and hard to climb,' but 
he fervently assures her ' love's light wings ' helped 
him over, for * stony limits cannot hold love out.' 
When Juliet exclaims her kinsmen will murder him, 
Romeo assures her ' there lies more peril in thy 
eye than twenty of their swords,' adding that he is 
besides well hidden by ' night's cloak.' Because 
Juliet wonders how he discovered this place, Romeo 
reiterates love was his pilot, thus causing such a 
vivid blush to rise to her cheeks that she is glad he 
cannot see it. Nevertheless, so eager is Juliet to 
hear him openly proclaim his affection that she 



132 Stories of Shakespeare* s Tragedies 

invites him to state his feelings, adding that should 
he deem her too quickly won, she will ' frown and 
be perverse and say thee nay, so thou wilt woo; but 
else, not for the world.' She also implores him not 
to consider her behaviour light, but when he attempts 
to swear by the moon, hastily checks him, vowing 
that is inconstant. Nevertheless, believing he truly 
loves her, she whispers a gentle good-night, although 
he entreats her not to leave him thus unsatisfied. 

The nurse's call interrupts one of the most ex- 
quisite love scenes ever penned, and Juliet vanishes 
still imploring Romeo to be true. In his rapture, 
the lover blesses the night which has brought him 
such joy, yet fears this is a dream ' too flattering- 
sweet to be substantial.' 

He is still lingering below, when Juliet reap- 
pears above, whispering that should his purpose be 
marriage, he can send her word on the morrow by 
the messenger she will despatch, informing her where 
to meet him to have the wedding rite performed. 
She has just fervently declared ' all my fortunes at 
thy foot I'll lay and follow thee my lord through- 
out the world,' when the nurse again interrupts. 
Then she timorously adds that should Romeo not 
mean honourably he had better depart and leave 
her to her grief, and has barely time to hear him 
protest fidelity ere she goes in. 

When she has vanished, Romeo decides that ' love 
goes toward love, as schoolboys from their books, but 
love from love, toward school with heavy looks.' 
Just then Juliet reappears a third time at the bal- 
cony, comparing herself to a falconer who would 



Romeo and Juliet 133 

fain lure his bird back again. To her surprise, 
Romeo softly addresses her and when she enquires 
at what hour she must send her message, and he 
appoints nine, she sighs the time will seem long 
until then. Because she cannot remember what she 
wished to say, Romeo offers to stand there till her 
memory return, but Juliet reluctantly dismisses him, 
admitting, ' parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall 
say good-night till it be morrow.' When she has 
finally gone in, Romeo hastens off to Friar Lau- 
rence's cell, ' his help to crave, and my dear hap to 
tell.' 

The curtain next rises on the friar's cell at dawn, 
just as he enters with the basket of herbs he has 
culled in the forest. While he is soliloquising on 
their medicinal properties, Romeo appears, and when 
the friar wonders at so early a visit, denies having 
been with Rosaline whom he has almost forgotten. 
He confesses to have been feasting, instead, with his 
enemy, where, although mortally hurt, he dealt a 
similar wound, for which the friar possesses the 
only remedy in his ' holy physic' Then, as the 
friar rejoins ' riddling confession finds but riddling 
shrift,' Romeo sets forth more explicitly that, hav- 
ing fallen in love with Capulet's only daughter, he 
has come to beg the friar to marry them to-day. 
Marvelling at so sudden a transfer of affections, 
yet hoping ' this alliance may so happy prove, to 
turn your households' rancour to pure love,' the 
friar consents, although he prudently admonishes 
the impetuous lover to go ' wisely and slow.' 

In the street we next behold Mercutio asking 



134 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

Benvolio where Romeo can be? In reply Benvolio 
rejoins he is not at home, for Tybalt has sent 
thither a challenge far more serious than the love- 
bolt with which Mercutio claims Romeo has been 
slain. In such a punning guise that Benvolio has 
difficulty in following his meaning, Mercutio re- 
lates what has occurred, and has barely finished when 
Romeo joins them. 

Welcomed with the remark that he cleverly gave 
them the slip, Romeo tries to appease his friends by 
joking with them. He is still talking when Juliet's 
nurse draws near in festive array, solemnly escorted 
by Peter, whom she orders about to the amusement 
of the three young men. Sailing up to them, the 
nurse enquires for Romeo, with whom she wishes 
to have some private talk. This statement amuses 
his friends, who, after jokes and snatches of song, 
depart with mocking farewells. 

The youths gone, Romeo pacifies the offended 
old woman by assuring her Mercutio is ' a gentle- 
man, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk, and will 
speak more in a minute than he will stand to in a 
month.' Then he implores her to commend him to 
her mistress, who she avers will be ' a joyful woman/ 
Next, he bids her tell Juliet to come to the friar's 
cell that afternoon, under pretext of confession, 
so they can be married. Forcing the nurse to 
accept a tip, he adds that his man will presently 
bring her a rope-ladder, of which she must take 
charge, and which will enable him to visit his bride 
at night without being seen. This romantic plan 
so appeals to the old woman that she volubly pro- 



Romeo and Juliet 135 

nounces her little mistress the sweetest lady in town, 
prolonging the scene by her tedious speeches, and 
sailing off again, with Peter in attendance, only 
when Romeo has duly impressed upon her the main 
points of his scheme. 

The curtain next rises on the Capulet orchard, 
where Juliet impatiently awaits the return of her 
nurse, whom she chides for slowness, so eager is she 
to learn what message Romeo sends. When nurse 
and Peter therefore appear, Juliet, after dismissing 
the man, eagerly questions the old lady, who puffs 
and blows, complains of her back, and refuses to 
answer, until she has driven her nursling almost 
wild. Finally, Juliet learns that Romeo will meet 
her at the friar's cell, where they will be married, 
and that her nurse is presently to fetch ' a ladder, 
by the which your love must climb a bird's nest 
soon when it is dark.' This information causes 
Juliet to part from her nurse, longing for after- 
noon, when she will ' hie to high fortune ! ' 

We return to the friar's cell, just as the holy man 
hopes the heavens will so smile ' upon this holy 
act, that after hours with sorrow chide us not ! ' 
He has barely finished this pious hope when Romeo 
exclaims it will be bliss enough to call Juliet his, 
although the friar gravely warns him ' violent de- 
lights have violent ends, and in their triumph die.' 
At this moment the light-footed Juliet draws near, 
gently greeting her confessor, who declares Romeo 
must express thanks for them both. The lover's 
measure of joy is, however, too overflowing to per- 
mit ready utterance, a state of affairs from which 



136 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

Juliet is suffering also; so, perceiving the depth of 
their mutual passion, the friar invites them in, say- 
ing, 'you shall not stay alone till holy church in- 
corporate two in one.' 

Act III. On a public square, Benvolio sug- 
gests to Mercutio they had better retire for fear of 
a broil, an excuse which seems passing strange in 
one who is c as full of quarrels as an egg is full of 
meat.' The two friends are arguing about the mat- 
ter when Tybalt and his companions enter, demand- 
ing to speak to the representatives of the Mon- 
tagues. So truculent is Tybalt's manner that he 
and Mercutio, notwithstanding Benvolio's efforts, 
soon begin a quarrel. Then Romeo appears, whom 
Tybalt immediately dubs a villain and challenges; 
but Romeo, — who has special reasons for keeping 
the peace, — refuses to fight, declaring Tybalt will 
soon learn the reason for such forbearance. En- 
raged by what seems a lame excuse, Mercutio chal- 
lenges Tybalt, who begins fighting, while Romeo 
rushes between them, imploring them to cease, and 
reminding them of the duke's prohibition. Even 
while he stands thus between the combatants, Tybalt 
deals Mercutio a treacherous wound and flees. Call- 
ing for his page to fetch a surgeon, Mercutio answers 
Romeo's comforting remarks by grimly assuring him 
that, although his wound is ' not so deep as a well, 
nor so wide as a church-door,' he will be dead be- 
fore the morrow. In his agony he entreats Ben- 
volio to help him into a neighbouring house, while 
Romeo laments that his dear friend should have 
received a mortal hurt, and his reputation should be 



Romeo and Juliet 137 

smirched, by the very man who has been his kins- 
man one brief hour. He also confesses his for- 
bearance has been exercised merely for love of 
Juliet, whose ' beauty hath made me effeminate and 
in my temper soften'd valour's steel ! ' 

A moment later Benvolio reports Mercutio dead 
and Tybalt coming back in a rage. This news so 
infuriates Romeo that he attacks the cowardly as- 
sassin, bidding him retract his ' villain,' and declar- 
ing Mercutio awaits one of them to accompany him 
to the better world. Because Tybalt is aching for 
a fight, they close with fury, and fight until Romeo 
sees his adversary fall. His friend now anxiously 
urges him to flee, for a crowd is gathering and it is 
likely the prince will condemn him to death. With 
the heartrending cry that he is ' fortune's fool,' 
Romeo dashes off, just as citizens rush in on all 
sides, clamouring for Mercutio's slayer. While point- 
ing to Tybalt, Benvolio himself is seized as the mur- 
derer, just as the prince, Montague, and Capulet 
appear. When the ruler of Verona enquires how 
this fray began, Benvolio, with a running accom- 
paniment of exclamations from both factions, ac- 
cuses Tybalt of murdering Mercutio, describes 
Romeo's reluctance to fight, and depicts his gen- 
erous indignation on learning his friend's death. 
Although he swears to the truth of this tale, the 
Capulets refuse to believe him, and clamour for 
Romeo's punishment, while the Montagues insist 
that the fault lies solely with Tybalt. After hear- 
ing both sides, the prince decrees Romeo shall be 
exiled, adding that should further brawls occur, 



138 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

neither ' tears nor prayers shall purchase out 
abuses.' 

The curtain again rises on Capulet's orchard, 
just as Juliet at her window bids the hours travel 
apace, so night may soon bring her newly-plighted 
husband. So deeply is she in love that she exclaims 
when Romeo dies he should be cut * in little stars, 
and he will make the face of heaven so light, that all 
the world will be in love with night and pay no 
worship to the garish sun.' She is still soliloquising 
when her nurse comes in, and flings the rope-ladder 
at her feet, gasping that ' he is dead,' and they are 
undone ! As the pronoun applies to one man only in 
Juliet's mind, she is horrified, and when the nurse 
cries, ' O Romeo, Romeo ! who ever would have 
thought it ? ' she passionately enquires whether her 
lover is dead? Instead of answering, the nurse 
dilates upon the wound and the appearance of the 
corpse until broken-hearted Juliet feels sure she will 
fill the same coffin as her lover. Then the foolish 
old woman wails Tybalt was the best friend she ever 
had, and Juliet, noting the past tense, wonders 
whether Romeo and Tybalt are both dead? Only 
then does the nurse inform her Tybalt is slain and 
Romeo banished! On hearing her lover killed her 
kinsman, Juliet despairingly wonders how it all came 
about, and why Romeo did not spare one so closely 
related to her? But the nurse pessimistically as- 
sures her * there's no trust, no faith, no honesty 
in men,' although Juliet pronounces Romeo's brow 
far too noble for shame to sit upon it. Hearing 
the wife thus defend her husband, the nurse chides 



Romeo and Juliet 139 

Juliet for speaking well of Tybalt's murderer, until 
the girl insists Romeo killed her kinsman in self- 
defence, and vows she will uphold her beloved at 
any cost. The word banishment, which the nurse 
has uttered, now returns to her memory, and she 
mourns that Romeo should be sent away, and en- 
quires what has become of her parents? When the 
nurse reports both weeping over Tybalt's corpse, 
Juliet rejoins her tears will all be for Romeo, from 
whom, although just wed, she is already parted. 
Hearing this, the nurse bids her retire to her cham- 
ber, promising Romeo shall come there to com- 
fort her, for she knows he is hidden in the friar's 
cell, whither she now proposes to betake herself, 
bearing the ring Juliet gives her, and an entreating 
message to come and bid farewell to his bride. 

The next scene reveals the friar, summoning 
from the dim background of his cell Romeo the 
' fearful man,' ' wedded to calamity.' When Romeo 
emerges from the gloom, dully enquiring what sen- 
tence the prince has pronounced, the friar gently 
informs him he is banished, but not condemned to 
death. But, as banishment entails parting with 
Juliet, Romeo deems it even worse than death, 
although the friar reproaches him, and declares the 
prince has dealt mercifully. When Romeo de- 
scribes the pain it costs him to part from his be- 
loved, the friar bids ' adversity's sweet milk, philoso- 
phy,' comfort him, although Romeo, sure no 
philosophy can ever evolve a Juliet, bitterly re- 
jects it, declaring were the friar as young as he, 
and in love, he might then understand his feelings! 



140 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

Romeo has just flung himself on the ground, in 
despair, when a knock impels the friar to urge him 
to hide. Because Romeo refuses to move, the holy 
friar only partly opens the door, until he beholds the 
nurse, who no sooner says she is come in Juliet's 
name than he describes Romeo's grief. The nurse 
avers it is the exact counterpart of that of her mis- 
tress, and then, perceiving the young lover, ad- 
dresses him directly. When he eagerly enquires for 
his beloved, Romeo is told Juliet does nothing but 
weep and call out alternately his name and Tybalt's. 
This report adds such poignancy to his remorse that, 
longing to end his life, Romeo draws his sword, 
wildly asking in what part of a man's anatomy his 
name lodges, as he is determined to cut his out. 
Staying his hand, the friar informs him he has no 
right to take his own life, and lectures him sternly 
on duty. Then he bids him take leave of Juliet and 
retire to Mantua, where he promises him frequent 
tidings of her, holding forth a hope that soon he can 
call him ' back with twenty hundred thousand times 
more joy ' than he went forth in lamentation. This 
hope not only cheers the lover, but fills the nurse 
with open-mouthed admiration for clerical wisdom, 
and she goes off, after giving Romeo the ring, to 
announce his coming to her mistress. 

Although the friar approves of this parting inter- 
view between the married lovers, he gravely warns 
his charge to steal to Juliet's side only under cover 
of darkness, and to leave her before dawn, as it will 
not be safe for him to linger in Verona. Such is 
the comfort the friar's words have bestowed that 




Wm. Kaulbach 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



First Watch. "Sovereign, here lies the County Paris slain: 
And Romeo dead; and Juliet dead before, 
Warm and new kill'd." 



Romeo and Juliet. Act 5, Scene 3. 



Romeo and Juliet 141 

Romeo rapturously assures him, ' But that a joy 
past joy calls out on me, it were a grief, so brief to 
part with thee.' 

In a room in the Capulet mansion, Juliet's parents 
are talking to Paris, who is renewing his suit for 
their daughter's hand. The father regrets Juliet 
should show such extravagant grief for the death of 
a cousin, and deems it wise to change her ideas by 
hastening the marriage. He, therefore, declares that, 
although grand nuptials are now impossible, the 
marriage can be privately celebrated on Thursday, 
and urges his wife to prepare their daughter for it. 
Eager to secure so beautiful a bride, Paris wishes 
Thursday nearer, while Capulet goes out, repeating 
his instructions that Juliet is to be immediately noti- 
fied of her coming wedding. 

We again perceive the orchard toward dawn, just 
as Romeo and Juliet appear at the window. En- 
treating her husband not to leave her, Juliet as- 
sures him it was the nightingale which ' pierced the 
fearful hollow of thine ear,' to which Romeo re- 
gretfully rejoins it was ' the herald of the morn,' 
and points out streaks of light in the east. When 
Juliet ascribes them to meteoric effects, and im- 
plores him to remain with her, Romeo promises to 
linger, saying he is ready to hail death should Juliet 
will it. But, trembling for his life, Juliet now fever- 
ishly urges him begone, and they are clinging sadly 
together in farewell, when the nurse warns them to 
separate as day is breaking, and Lady Capulet is 
coming to visit her daughter. Hearing this, Romeo 
springs out of the window, and after a last em- 



142 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

brace vanishes down the ladder, while Juliet, lean- 
ing over the railing, implores him to write, re- 
minding him that ' in a minute there are many days.' 

Romeo has barely gone, after a lingering fare- 
well, and Juliet is still hoping fickle fortune will 
soon bring him back, when Lady Capulet is heard 
enquiring whether her daughter is still up. A visit 
at such an hour surprises Juliet, who, in reply to her 
mother's questions, confesses she is not well. Per- 
ceiving tears, which she attributes solely to sorrow 
for Tybalt's death, Lady Capulet bids her child 
cease mourning, insisting that * some grief shows 
much of love; but much of grief shows still some 
want of wit.' But, when she proceeds to revile 
Romeo, Juliet warmly exclaims she wishes none 
but she might 'venge her cousin's death.' Think- 
ing this betokens a longing for revenge and hoping 
to comfort her, Lady Capulet suggests sending some 
one to Mantua to poison Romeo, and Juliet eagerly 
begs the poison be entrusted to her, promising to 
temper it so that Romeo will ' soon sleep in quiet.' 
These remarks entirely blind the mother, who, fur- 
ther to cheer her daughter's downcast spirits, reports 
how her ' careful father ' has fixed her marriage 
with Paris for Thursday next ! The terrified Juliet 
then protests she has no desire to marry, adding that, 
although they know she hates Romeo, she would 
rather espouse him than be married on such a short 
notice. So passionate a protest merely irritates 
Lady Capulet, who, seeing her husband approach, 
coldly bids Juliet repeat this statement in his hearing. 

Entering the apartment, Capulet demands why 



Romeo and Juliet 143 

his daughter is weeping, and whether she has re- 
ceived his message ? When Lady Capulet petulantly 
rejoins their foolish daughter refuses consent, Capu- 
let is surprised she should prove so ungrateful when 
he has picked out so fine a husband for her. Juliet, 
trying to speak, is roughly silenced by her father, 
who decrees she shall either betake herself to church 
on Thursday next of her own free will, or be 
dragged thither on a hurdle. Because Juliet now 
falls at his feet imploring him to listen patiently, he 
exclaims his fingers itch to strike her, adding bitterly 
that, whereas he once regretted having only one 
child, he now finds one too many. When the nurse 
interferes to defend her charge, she, too, is harshly 
scolded, and the testy old gentleman finally stalks 
out, muttering as ultimatum that his daughter shall 
marry Paris on Thursday, or beg her bread ! 

Wondering ' is there no pity sitting in the clouds 
that sees into the bottom of my grief ? ' Juliet wildly 
implores her mother to delay the wedding, for a 
month or week, or lay her in the tomb where 
Tybalt lies; — frantic entreaties, which Lady Capu- 
let considers so foolish that she merely hastens out to 
further the wedding preparations. 

Turning to her nurse, Juliet now despairingly asks 
how to prevent this crime, for ' my husband is on 
earth, my faith in heaven.' But, instead of helping 
and comforting her, the unscrupulous woman rejoins 
that since Romeo is banished, and she will never hear 
of him again, she had better accept Paris and be 
happy in a second marriage. When Juliet ques- 
tions whether she can be speaking from her heart, 



144 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

the nurse replies with such sincerity, that perceiving 
she can obtain no aid from her, Juliet, dissembling 
her real feelings, bids her inform Lady Capulet 
she has gone to the friar's cell, to confess and be 
absolved for displeasing her father. Then she dis- 
misses the unprincipled attendant, who cordially ap- 
proves of so pious a course; but, left alone, Juliet 
reviles the old woman for giving such unscrupulous 
advice, declaring that she will hasten to the friar, 
and adding that if he knows no remedy, and ' all else 
fail, myself have power to die.' 

Act IV. The fourth act opens in Friar Lau- 
rence's cell, while he is conversing with Paris, who 
has come to make arrangements for his wedding, 
and seems very eager to claim his bride. When the 
friar asks whether he has ascertained the lady's 
wishes, Paris rejoins that, while Juliet is still dis- 
solved in tears over Tybalt's murder, their wedding 
is being hastened purposely to divert her thoughts. 
The friar has just muttered such nuptials should 
rather be ' slow'd,' when he sees Juliet coming, and 
calls Paris' attention to that fact. Greeting his be- 
trothed joyfully, as his lady and his wife, Paris is 
coldly reminded that title does not yet belong to 
her; still, gallantly assuring her it will before long, 
he enquires whether she has come to confess, a ques- 
tion she puts off, until the friar contrives to dis- 
miss him. 

When he has gone, Juliet bids Friar Laurence 
close the door and weep with her, and when he cries 
he knows the cause of her grief, wildly entreats 
him to devise some means to prevent this marriage. 



Romeo and Juliet 145 

She passionately adds that she will stab herself 
rather than break her vows ; — words which sug- 
gest to the friar a fine plan whereby she can be 
saved from bigamy. Because he exclaims desperate 
circumstances require desperate remedies, Juliet 
volunteers to do anything, rather than marry Paris, 
excitedly offering to face all manner of horrors, so 
as to remain * an unstain'd wife to my sweet love.' 
Since such are her sentiments, the friar bids her re- 
turn home pretending joyful assent, and on her 
wedding eve quaff the drug he gives her, which will 
induce a sleep so like death that she will be laid away 
in the family vault. He promises that when she 
wakens at the end of forty-two hours, Romeo, — 
warned by him, — will be in the vault, whence he and 
the friar will bear her off to a place of safety. The 
prospect of joining her beloved so charms Juliet, 
that she unhesitatingly accepts this poison, vowing 
love will give her strength to bear even this ordeal. 
Then she leaves the friar, who assures her one of 
the brethren will hasten immediately to Mantua to 
apprise Romeo of their plan. 

In a room in the Capulet mansion, the owner, 
after bidding his steward invite certain guests, 
charges him to hire twenty extra cooks, whose 
efficiency the man proposes to try by observing 
whether they lick their fingers, a sovereign test for 
expert cooks. The steward gone, Capulet enquires 
for his daughter, and is pleased to learn she has 
gone to the friar's, because he hopes to see her re- 
turn in a better frame of mind. Just then the nurse 
reports her charge coming * from shrift with merry 



146 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

look,' and Juliet on entering immediately begs her 
father's pardon, promising henceforth to be ruled 
by him. Such submission gratifies Capulet, as does 
the news she met Paris and spoke kindly to him. 
Then, turning to her nurse, Juliet invites her to 
help her choose her wedding attire, and Capulet sends 
his wife after them, promising to look after household 
matters and interview Paris, while she devotes her 
attention to adorning the bride. 

In Juliet's chamber we next overhear the young 
lady begging her nurse to leave her alone for the 
night, as she has ' need of many orisons to move 
the heavens to smile upon my state.' Just then Lady 
Capulet comes in, and learning all is ready, and 
Juliet anxious to retire, goes off with the nurse, 
after bidding her daughter a fond good-night. They 
have barely gone when Juliet exclaims, ' God knows 
when we shall meet again,' and shudders with name- 
less fears. Nevertheless, determined to do her part 
bravely to escape sin, she not only produces the 
phial, but prepares a dagger, so, in case the mixture 
fails to work, she can save herself from perjury. 
Gazing at the phial, she then wonders whether the 
friar can have given her poison, and shudders at the 
thought of waking in the vault before Romeo joins 
her. But, in spite of all the horrors her lively 
imagination can conjure, Juliet drinks the dose, 
exclaiming, ' Romeo, . I come ! this do I drink to 
thee.' 

In a hall in the same house we see Lady Capulet 
and the nurse making final arrangements for the 
wedding, while Capulet bustles about giving orders. 



Romeo and Juliet 147 

A moment later he dismisses the women to rest, and 
after they have gone, examines the dishes carried to 
and fro, and issues commands. All at once music 
without announces the arrival of the bridegroom 
to awaken the bride; so, hastily summoning the 
nurse, Capulet bids her dress Juliet, while he enter- 
tains this early guest. 

The curtain next rises on Juliet's chamber as the 
nurse steals in, and deeming her charge fast asleep, 
tries to rouse her, first by pet names and then by 
gentle chiding. Obtaining no reply, she finally 
draws aside the curtains, only to behold her nursling 
lying upon the bed fully dressed. Because even then 
Juliet does not stir, the nurse bends over her, and 
discovering her inanimate, cries out in such terror 
that Lady Capulet comes rushing in. She, too, un- 
able to believe her eyes, raises such a commotion 
that the father arrives, sternly bidding the women 
hurry, since the bridegroom is waiting. When wife 
and nurse wail that Juliet is dead, Capulet refuses 
to believe them until he notes her joints are stiff 
and cold. 

All are loudly lamenting when the friar ushers 
in the bridegroom, enquiring whether the bride is 
ready for church ? Despairingly exclaiming she will 
go there never to return, Capulet adds that Paris' 
bride has wedded death! Although he had longed 
for a glimpse of Juliet's ' morning face,' Paris is 
so horrified by the sight which now meets his eyes 
that he joins with the rest in bewailing this untimely 
death, until, silencing this wild outburst of grief, 
the friar declares Heaven had the best right to the 



148 Stories of Shakespeare' s Tragedies 

fair maid. To this consolatory speech Capulet bit- 
terly adds the wedding-feast can serve as funeral 
banquet, and the bridal flowers to deck his daugh- 
ter's grave! Still, this seems a more reasonable 
mood to the friar, who bids all prepare to consign 
the beloved remains to the tomb. 

After the parents, Paris, and the friar have sadly 
passed out of the room, the musicians also decide to 
depart, a resolution in which the nurse and Peter 
strengthen them. But, even in the presence of death, 
these men cannot refrain from exercising their wit 
upon Peter ere they file out. 

Act V. The fifth act opens on the street of 
Mantua where Romeo strolls, musing on a dream 
he has had of Juliet, and declaring some great bliss 
is surely coming, since his ' bosom's lord sits lightly 
in his throne.' His meditations are interrupted by 
the arrival of one of his servants, from whom he 
eagerly craves news of his father, Juliet, and the 
friar. This man, — who is not sent by the friar, but 
has heard the news, — now bluntly announces Juliet's 
death, testifying he saw her laid in the vault before 
starting to bring the news. Hearing this, Romeo 
wildly defies the stars; then suddenly calls for pen, 
ink, and post-horses, declaring he must leave to- 
night. His pallor and wildness terrify his servant, 
although Romeo reassures him and bids him hasten 
to execute the orders received. 

His servant gone, Romeo in a wonderful solilo- 
quy, promises to be with Juliet to-night, for, having 
noticed a poverty-stricken apothecary in Mantua, 
he intends to purchase from him some drug which 



Romeo and Juliet 149 

will rid him of life. Talking thus, Romeo reaches 
the apothecary's shop, where he knocks so loudly 
that its owner immediately appears. Proffering 
money, Romeo demands a speedy poison, although 
the vender insists Mantuan laws will not allow 
its sale. Nevertheless, he yields after a while to 
Romeo's prayers, under pretext ' my poverty, but not 
my will consents,' and, giving Romeo a phial of 
poison, bids him pour it into any liquid, stating it will 
instantly kill. With this treasure, Romeo prepares 
to journey straight to Juliet's grave, where he in- 
tends to commit suicide. 

The curtain next rises on the friar's cell, as he 
starts in surprise in beholding the brother he sent 
to Mantua. In reply to his questions, this monk 
relates how on the way thither he entered a house, 
where, as there was a contagious disease, he has been 
quarantined until now. Instead of delivering the 
letter to Romeo, therefore, he is bringing it back, 
to the intense horror of the friar, who wildly bids 
him fetch a crowbar. Wondering at such an order, 
the brother shuffles off, while the friar mutters he 
must hasten to the monument, where, within three 
hours' time, Juliet will awaken. He realises how 
she will chide him for not having warned Romeo, 
and decides to hide her in his own cell until she 
can rejoin her husband. Thus he leaves the scene, 
pitying the poor lady ' closed in a dead man's tomb ! ' 

In the churchyard near the Capulet vault Paris 
appears, having vowed to visit the tomb of his be- 
trothed each night. After taking torch and flowers 
from his page's hand, Paris bids him watch, whistling 



150 Stories of Shake spear e } s Tragedies 

a warning should any one appear. Although afraid 
to mount guard in a churchyard, the page dares not 
disobey, and Paris, left alone, murmurs he is about 
to strew Juliet's bridal-bed with flowers. Just as 
he enters the vault a shrill whistle resounds, so, 
knowing some one is near, Paris muffles his light 
and hides, for he does not wish to be disturbed in 
his ' true love's rite.' 

While he is thus lurking in concealment, Romeo 
draws near, with a servant bearing a torch and 
mattock. Bidding the man give him the instru- 
ment with which he proposes to break open the tomb, 
Romeo hands him a letter to deliver to his father on 
the morrow. Then, explaining he wishes to secure 
a valuable ring on Juliet's finger, Romeo charges 
this man not to interrupt him, whatever he sees or 
hears, threatening to tear him limb from limb should 
he dare spy upon him. Terrified by such threats, 
the servant moves off, muttering he fears his mas- 
ter's looks and doubts his intentions. 

Left alone, Romeo passionately addresses the ' de- 
testable maw ' which has swallowed up his beloved, 
and bids it unclinch its jaws to receive more food! 
Then he violently breaks open the vault, on be- 
holding which act Paris fancies this Montague has 
come ' to do some villainous shame to the dead 
bodies.' He, therefore, rushes forward, bidding 
Romeo pause. Warning this antagonist he is a 
desperate man, Romeo, — as Paris disregards his 
words, — begins madly fighting with him, to the ter- 
ror of the page, who rushes off to summon the 
watch. A moment later Paris falls, mortally 



Romeo and Juliet 151 

wounded, but using his last breath to beg Romeo to 
lay him beside Juliet. Bending over this victim, 
Romeo now recognises with amazement Count Paris, 
whom he vaguely remembers hearing was to marry 
Juliet the very day she died. Taking up the corpse, 
he grimly proceeds to fulfil the dead man's last re- 
quest, exclaiming as he enters the vault, that Juliet's 
beauty fills the place with light. 

First disposing of Paris, Romeo muses upon the 
sights he sees, and after addressing his victim Tyb- 
alt, approaches Juliet, who is so beautiful and life- 
like in her immobility that she does not seem dead. 
After lingering farewells, feeling Juliet has been 
gone too long without him, Romeo drinks the poison 
and expires embracing her. 

Meanwhile, at the further end of the churchyard, 
Friar Laurence appears with lantern and spade, 
praying St. Francis' aid, but starting on meeting 
Romeo's man. Perceiving at the same time a light 
in the vault, he breathlessly enquires what it means, 
whereupon the man informs him that his master 
entered that place about half an hour ago. Vainly 
inviting the terrified servant to follow, the friar 
hurries on into the vault, murmuring he fears some 
unlucky occurrence, while the man calls after him 
that, while dozing under a yew tree, he dreamt his 
master fought with another man and slew him. 

Advancing, softly calling Romeo, the friar marks 
the bloodstained swords and gory soil. Then, on 
entering, he perceives Romeo, pale as death, and 
Paris steeped in blood ! At this moment Juliet's 
eyes unclose, and recognising the friar, she eagerly 



152 Stories of Shakespeare' s Tragedies 

asks for Romeo. Hearing some noise without and 
fearing consequences, the friar whispers they must 
hasten forth from this ' nest of death, contagion, 
and unnatural sleep,' where a ' greater power than 
we can contradict has thwarted our intents.' Then, 
as Juliet does not stir, he shudderingly adds her hus- 
band and Paris lie dead beside her, but that he will 
take her away and place her in a sisterhood. No 
sooner is Juliet aware of Romeo's proximity, than 
oblivious of everything else, she bends over him, 
bidding the friar depart alone, for she will not go. 
Fearing to be caught, the priest hurries out, while 
Juliet, discovering the cup in Romeo's hand, gently 
chides him for having drunk all its contents without 
leaving her a share. Then she passionately kisses 
him, hoping some poison may still cling to his lips. 
Meanwhile, the watch without have summoned 
the page to show the way, and Juliet, hearing them 
approach and fearing their intervention, seizes 
Romeo's dagger and sheathes it in her breast. 

The swords and marks of conflict, first startle 
the watchmen, who, on entering the vault, discover 
Paris slain, Romeo dead, and Juliet warm and 
bleeding, although buried two days before. They, 
therefore, excitedly bid the page notify the Capulets, 
Montagues, and prince, and meanwhile seize Romeo's 
servant, and the friar whose suspicious tools prove 
he was bent on some strange errand ! 

When the prince appears, he sternly demands 
what all this means? But, before his questions 
can be answered, the Capulets rush in, exclaiming 
the streets resound with the names of Romeo, Juliet, 



Romeo and Juliet 153 

and Paris, and crowds are hastening to the monu- 
ment! Bidding them forbear until he can ascertain 
what has happened, the prince questions the watch- 
men, who testify having found Paris slain, Romeo 
dead, and Juliet, — whom they deemed already life- 
less, — -breathing her last. They point out the in- 
struments which served to open the vault, while 
Capulet, bending over his daughter's body, calls his 
wife's attention to the fact that a Montague dagger 
is sheathed in her breast! While Lady Capulet 
bewails this sight, old Montague rushes in, and the 
prince questioning him, learns he is overwhelmed 
with sorrow, because his wife has died of grief at her 
son's exile. Then, suddenly beholding Romeo's 
corpse, the bereaved father passionately reproaches 
his son for being so unnatural as to ' press before 
thy father to a grave.' 

Meanwhile, investigating further, the prince hears 
the friar condemn and excuse himself in a breath, 
stating how he married Romeo, but how, on their 
wedding day, Tybalt was slain, and the bridegroom 
banished! Friar Laurence also reveals how Juliet, 
to remain true to her beloved, took a powerful 
drug, and adds that Romeo, summoned to lead her 
out of the tomb, failed to receive his letter. For 
that reason he came hither himself, only to discover 
how Romeo and Paris, visiting the same grave, 
had crossed swords at its mouth. Next he describes 
how he found Paris bathed in blood, and Romeo 
breathing his last beside Juliet, further declaring 
he was about to lead the poor girl away, when, 
startled by the approach of the watch, he fled. It, 



154 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

therefore, becomes evident that, left alone in the 
vault, Juliet took her own life in despair. 

The prince, knowing the friar is a holy man, next 
questions Romeo's servant, who relates all he knows, 
and delivers the letter. Then, calling Paris' page, 
the prince interrogates him, too, and from him learns 
how his master perished. On opening Romeo's let- 
ter, the prince not only perceives the whole truth 
has been told, but informs all present that Romeo 
procured from a Mantuan apothecary the poison 
which enabled him to die beside his Juliet. Then, 
turning to the life-long foes, the prince solemnly 
bids them behold ' what a scourge is laid upon 
your hate,' adding that in punishment for coun- 
tenancing their feud, he, himself, has lost two kins- 
men. 

The broken-hearted Capulet now offers his hand 
and forgiveness to Montague, as his daughter's mar- 
riage portion, while the latter volunteers to raise 
a golden statue to Juliet, so all Verona may know 
she was ' true and faithful.' Not to be outdone 
by his quondam foe, Capulet proposes to erect an 
equally rich effigy of Romeo, ere the prince bids all 
disperse, decreeing that ' some shall be pardon'd, 
and some punished: for never was a story of more 
woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo.' 



CORIOLANUS 

Act I. The first act opens in a street in Rome 
where mutinous citizens, armed with staves and 
clubs, talk excitedly, being determined to rebel 
rather than starve. They are loudly yelling that 
Marcius, — a descendant of their ancient kings, — 
is the chief foe of the people, that the surplus 
wasted by the patricians would maintain them all in 
comfort. Besides, they resent the fact that one class 
of Roman society revels in luxury while the other is 
starving. They, therefore, declare that Marcius, 
although a brave soldier, protects only the rich and 
cares naught for the poor, and are just proposing 
to storm the Capitol when checked by the arrival 
of Menenius, whom, — knowing he is ever ready to 
befriend them, — they hail with joy. 

After a brief parley, Menenius informs them 
that the patricians have always taken care of them, 
and that the dearth of which they complain is due 
to the gods alone. Seeing the mob incredulous, he 
tries to explain the situation by the fable of the 
limbs and the stomach, which latter was considered 
a, lazy glutton, for whom the poor limbs were 
obliged to work. During this narration, there are 
frequent interruptions, but Menenius finally arouses 
mirth in his hearers by addressing one of the noisiest 
among them as the ' Great Toe ' of the body politic. 

155 



156 Stories of Shakespeare' s Tragedies 

Then he demonstrates how the limbs were at fault, 
as the stomach was working to make blood to nour- 
ish the different parts of the body, and adds that, 
while the senators of Rome may be likened to the 
stomach, the common people, like the mutinous 
limbs, merely injure themselves by rebelling. 

He has almost persuaded the plebeians to obey 
when Marcius joins him, roughly reproving the 
rioters for insubordination. To his aggressive 
haughtiness the people reply by ironical remarks, 
whereupon he shows how little he cafes for their 
good opinion, knowing they always bow down before 
those least deserving of honour. When he again de- 
mands the cause of their outcries, they clamour for 
corn at low rates, thus giving him a good opportunity 
to tell them that if they would only use their swords 
to fight, they could quickly win all they need! 
But he grudgingly adds that the senate has just 
appointed tribunes to watch over their interests, a 
concession which enrages him. 

While Menenius is marvelling at it, a messenger 
breathlessly calls for Marcius, announcing that the 
Volscians being under arms, his services are re- 
quired to defend his country. A moment later a 
deputation of consuls, senators, and tribunes reports 
an attack imminent, whereupon Marcius exclaims 
the Volscians are well led by Aufidius, a lion he is 
' proud to hunt,' and whom he has frequently met 
in battle before. Knowing this, the senators bid 
him accompany their consuls to war, a charge 
Marcius gladly accepts, because it will give him 
another chance to distinguish himself in the face 



Coriolanus 157 

of the foe. His enthusiasm causes Lartius, the 
second consul, to boast that although wounded, he 
will enter battle leaning on his crutch! 

Marcius is about to accompany the deputation 
back to the Capitol to take measures for Rome's 
safety, when an attempt is made to disperse the mob. 
Because the plebeians hesitate to obey, Marcius 
ironically invites them to come with him and fight 
the Volscians, who possess rich granaries, and thus 
secure all the food they need. The rabble, afraid 
to fight, melts away, and after a brief time, two of 
the tribunes remain alone on the scene, to comment 
upon the taunts and jibes Marcius flung at the peo- 
ple, adding that the coming campaign will only 
increase his pride. Still, they do not doubt he will, 
by his bravery, outshine both consuls and reap all 
the honours, ere they betake themselves to the, 
senate. 

The next scene occurs in the senate at Corioli, 
where all have assembled to receive Aufidius, who 
announces that although there are no tidings from 
Rome, he expects a speedy attack. Then he reads 
aloud a letter, wherein is stated both Roman con- 
suls and Marcius, his old enemy, are coming to meet 
him. Lastly, he reproaches the senators for not 
allowing him to strike the first blow, as in his opin- 
ion they should have secured a number of towns 
before the Romans were afoot. Knowing Aufidius' 
talents as general, the senators implore him to act as 
he deems best, leaving them meantime to guard 
the city. This decision pleases the general, who 
vows should he and Marcius meet, they will strike 



158 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

1 'till one can do no more,' ere he takes his leave, 
accompanied by the good wishes of all the people. 

We are now transferred to Rome, where, in 
Marcius' house, we behold his mother Volumnia, 
and wife, Virgilia, sewing. Although the wife 
sighs because her husband has been summoned to 
war, the mother exults, for he has always returned 
victorious; she, therefore, dwells upon his triumphs 
from early boyhood, and answers proudly when Vir- 
gilia suggests that instead of conquering he might 
have been slain. Their conversation is interrupted 
by the arrival of a visitor, who is shown in while 
Virgilia is still timorously praying her husband may 
be protected from Aufidius' blows. This guest, 
Lady Valeria, after greeting both ladies, enquires 
for Marcius' son, who, although but a child, bids 
fair to rival his father in bravery and activity. 
After a while, however, Volumnia and the caller 
decide to visit one of their friends, but Virgilia 
prefers to linger at home, anxiously thinking of her 
husband, who is besieging Corioli. 

We are now granted a glimpse of the siege of 
this town, before which Marcius and Lartius are 
making a wager on the issue of the day. Then 
they summon the Corioli senators, who appear aloft, 
proclaiming that although Aufidius is not within 
their walls, they hear his drums summoning the 
young men to drive away the foe. A moment later 
a Volscian host issues from the town, whereupon 
Marcius bids his men make a brave stand, promis- 
ing them victory provided they do their part. In 
spite of his eloquence, the Romans are driven back 



Coriolanus 159 

to their trenches, Marcius swearing hotly at them 
to turn and fight or incur his lasting wrath. By 
his rough eloquence he finally encourages them to 
make a new attempt, which proves so successful that 
the Volscians flee, Marcius pursuing them to their 
very gates, which he urges his men to enter boldly. 
But> at the critical moment, the soldiers hang back, 
and Marcius rushes alone into Corioli, whose gates 
slam between him and his forces! 

The Romans deem him dead, and Lartius, join- 
ing them and hearing Marcius entered the city 
alone, loudly mourns such a jewel should be lost 
to his native land. While the Romans are still 
bewailing his loss, Marcius suddenly reappears, 
bleeding but alive, and seeing him beset with foes, 
Lartius flies to his rescue. This time, the Roman 
force, fighting bravely, penetrates into Corioli, where 
it soon begins plundering. While the rest are thus 
occupied, Marcius and Lartius scornfully watch 
them, until, noticing how freely his companion bleeds, 
Lartius implores him to have his wounds dressed. 
The hero, however, scorns to do anything of the 
sort, vowing he will appear before Aufidius in this 
bloody guise, and, leaving Lartius to guard Corioli, 
he hastens off to help the other consul. 

In the next scene we behold the camp of Consul 
Cominius, who bids his men rest after fighting, 
briefly stating that although forced to retreat, he 
intends soon to charge again, and will sacrifice to 
the gods if successful. A breathless messenger now 
informs him how the citizens of Corioli effected 
a sortie, driving back the Romans to their trenches; 



160 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

but, as this happened an hour ago by his own show- 
ing, Cominius fancies had a victory since been won, 
tidings of it would have reached him ere this. The 
messenger, however, replies no such news could 
come, as he himself was obliged to take a round- 
about way to escape the Volscian spies. 

While they are still discussing the probabilities, 
bloodstained Marcius appears, breathlessly enquir- 
ing whether he has come too late? On hearing 
from Cominius that the fight is not yet finished, 
Marcius rejoices, and when asked how Lartius is 
thriving, reports he is holding Corioli, condemning 
some of its citizens to death, and the others to exile 
or ransom. When asked what gave rise to the re- 
port his troops were beaten, Marcius explains how 
the common file did fall back at first, but how he 
prevailed in the end, as he will relate at some fitting 
moment. Meantime, he is eager to learn where 
the foe is situated, and hearing Aufidius still lingers 
in the neighbourhood, craves permission to chal- 
lenge him, vowing he will win if allowed to do so. 

Although Cominius suggests it might be better 
first to attend to his wounds, Marcius considers 
them mere trifles, and eagerly calls those who love 
their country to follow him and defend it. There- 
upon a number of volunteers brandish their swords 
and catch him up in their arms, vowing he shall 
lead them against Aufidius, with whom they are 
anxious to try issues again. Having thus worked 
them up to the right pitch of enthusiasm, Marcius 
leads his men off, promising the rest that all shall 
share in the booty. 



Coriolanus 1 6 1 

We again behold the gates of Corioli, where 
Lartius, having posted guards, comes forth with 
drums and trumpets to rejoin his fellow-consul, bid- 
ding his lieutenant meantime hold the town and 
close the gates behind him. 

The battle-field between the Roman and Vol- 
scian camps next appears, where trumpets are blow- 
ing and drums are beating, as Marcius and Aufidius 
enter from opposite sides of the stage. Such is their 
reciprocal hatred that they hurl defiance at one an- 
other ere they engage in single combat, their troops 
meanwhile rushing madly to and fro. 

In the next scene the recall brings Marcius back 
to the Roman camp, his arm tied in a sling, only 
to be told by the admiring Cominius that were 
some one to relate to him his feats of that day, he 
would never believe them ! Although pleased with 
such praise, Marcius seems embarrassed when the 
general adds he will relate his prowess to the senate, 
so the patricians can applaud him, the ladies shud- 
der at his dangers, and the plebeians, who have 
hitherto hated him, thank their gods that Rome 
possesses such a champion. 

It is just as Cominius finishes his laudatory 
speech that Lartius returns, declaring he was merely 
an auxiliary to Marcius, who vows their praise em- 
barrasses him as much as that of his mother when 
she extols him to his face. Good-naturedly retort- 
ing his modesty will be spared as much as pos- 
sible, Cominius, nevertheless, adjures Marcius to 
bear his honours as gracefully as possible, remarks 
which make little impression upon the hero, who 



1 62 Stories of Shakespeare* s Tragedies 

growls his wounds are smarting. Besides, he 
haughtily declines the proffered tenth of the booty, 
stating he craves no pay for what he has done, 
but will be content to share as usual with the rest. 
While the trumpets blow and cheers resound for 
Marcius, he fervently hopes his companions' voices 
will never be raised against him, and, vowing he 
cannot make a speech, begs permission to retire to 
dress his wounds. . 

Before allowing him to depart, Cominius pub- 
licly crowns him with an oaken garland, gives him 
his choicest steed, and hails him as ' Coriolanus,' 
since it is to his efforts the capture of Corioli is 
due. Although the new name is greeted with re- 
newed demonstrations of joy, Coriolanus, still re- 
fusing to make a speech, vows he will have to go 
and wash his face so people can see his blushes. 
Then, while Cominius escorts him to his tent, 
Lartius hastens back to Corioli, after sending word to 
Rome of their victory. It is just as they are leav- 
ing the scene that Coriolanus remembers how an old 
prisoner implored his aid, and intercedes in his be- 
half, although he is too faint and weary to recall 
the man's name. 

The curtain next rises on the Volscian camp, 
whither Aufidius returns announcing the loss of 
Corioli, and exclaiming he wishes he were a Roman, 
for the conquered cannot expect good treatment. 
He next avers that, although he has been beaten 
five times already by Marcius, he will conquer or 
die should they ever meet again. When his men 
exclaim that Marcius is a devil, he vows he is the 




Geo. E. Robertson 



CORIOLANUS LEAVING ROME 



Cor. "Farewell, my wife, my mother: 

I'll do well yet. Thou old old and true Menenius, 
Thy tears are Salter than a younger man's 
And venomous to thine eyes," 



Coriolanus. Act 4, Scene 1. 



Coriolanus 1 63 

boldest man he ever met, adding he hates him so 
bitterly that he would fain wash his ' fierce hand 
in's heart.' Then he bids the bystanders find out 
which Volscians are to be hostages, and promises to 
await their report in a neighbouring grove. 

Act II. The second act opens on the public 
square in Rome, where Menenius, talking to two 
tribunes, tells them good news has been promised 
by the augurs ere night. Hearing his interlocutors 
exclaim such tidings will not be welcome to the peo- 
ple, who hate Marcius because of his boastful pride, 
he justly accuses them of the very fault for which 
they blame Marcius. 

After the tribunes have withdrawn, the three 
women approach, and Menenius courteously en- 
quires why they are thus abroad? Thereupon 
Volumnia proudly announces they are going to meet 
her son, who is returning victor, as a letter has just 
made known. She then adds that he will prob- 
ably find a similar missive awaiting him at home, 
and when Menenius anxiously enquires whether 
Marcius has been wounded, joyfully exclaims he 
has indeed, and that these new wounds will bring 
him further honours. On hearing how Lartius him- 
self wrote the news of Marcius' triumphs and of 
Aufidius' escape, Menenius rejoices ere he enquires 
whether the news has also reached the senate? 
Then, turning to the two tribunes who appear 
again, he tells them Marcius is coming, interrupt- 
ing himself in the midst of his recital to find out 
from Volumnia where her son was wounded, and 
how many scars he can now boast. A moment later 



164 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

a blast of trumpets heralds Marcius' arrival, his 
proud mother exclaiming that, while noise goes be- 
fore him, he leaves tears behind him, for she knows 
many foes have fallen beneath his hand. 

We now behold the triumphal return of the Ro- 
man troops, Coriolanus, crowned with his oaken 
garland, marching between the consuls, while a 
herald proclaims that fighting alone before Corioli, 
he won the name of Coriolanus, by which he is 
henceforth to be addressed. While all acclaim, 
Coriolanus deprecatingly implores them not to 
cheer him, just as Cominius calls his attention to 
the little group of women by the roadside. Kneel- 
ing respectfully before Volumnia, Coriolanus thanks 
her for her prayers, and then seeing his wife's tears, 
questions with playful deference whether she would 
have laughed had he been brought home dead. 
Next, he receives greetings from Menenius, who 
vows Rome will ever honour his name, — a state- 
ment to which all present subscribe. 

Taking leave of his wife and mother, Coriolanus 
now continues with the procession to the senate, 
Volumnia exclaiming as he leaves the scene that 
she covets but one more honour for him, — the 
consulship, — although he rejoins he would rather be 
the people's servant in his own way than sway with 
them in theirs. 

After the triumphal procession has swept out of 
sight, the tribunes comment on the fuss made over 
Coriolanus, adding that should he ever be elected 
consul their offices would ' go to sleep,' for no au- 
thority would be left in their hands. Their only 



Coriolanus 165 

hope, therefore, lies in the fact that a consul's elec- 
tion depends upon the votes of the people, and that 
to obtain them, a candidate must humbly beg for 
them, exhibiting his wounds on the Forum, and 
thus bespeaking the favour of the voters. They art- 
fully decide to remind the plebeians how Coriolanus 
has hated and scorned them, and thus subtly work 
to defeat his ambitions. Just as they have reached 
this decision, a messenger summons them to the 
Capitol, where Coriolanus is to be proposed as con- 
sul in reward for his heroic deeds. But, although 
they obey this summons, the tribunes do so fully 
determined to use their eyes and ears to direct af- 
fairs according to their wishes. 

We next behold the Capitol, where two officers 
are laying cushions for the consular candidates, re- 
marking while doing so that Coriolanus is ' venge- 
ance proud,' and has never shown any regard for the 
people. Still, as they cannot but agree he has 
deserved well of his country, they hope his haughti- 
ness will not interfere with his election. A moment 
later a blast of trumpets announces the arrival of 
the two consuls, attended by a train of lictors and 
senators, as well as by the candidates for office. 
.While all the rest take their places, Coriolanus, 
seeing Cominius about to make a speech in his be- 
half, begs permission to withdraw, muttering he 
would rather be wounded again than sit still and 
hear himself praised. Then Cominius, in a won- 
derful speech, recalls the great deeds Coriolanus has 
performed in behalf of his country from the time 
when he was sixteen. His eulogy is so warmly ap- 



1 66 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

proved by all present that on his reappearance the 
senate select the hero as next consul, adding that 
he will, however, have to bespeak the votes of the 
people in the Forum, ere his title is secure. Averse 
to don the garb of humility and sue for votes, 
Coriolanus reluctantly yields to his friends' 'wishes, 
and betakes himself to the market-place, to display 
his scars and ask for voices; but, perceiving his un- 
gracious attitude, the tribunes ardently hope he will 
instead offend the people by addressing them in so 
haughty a manner. 

The curtain next rises on the Roman Forum, 
where citizens, passing to and fro, discuss the coming 
election, adding that if Coriolanus humbles himself 
sufficiently, they will support his election, as they 
do not wish to appear ungrateful. Still, they feel 
it so unlikely the hero will try to conciliate them 
that they are greatly surprised to see him appear in 
the usual garb of humility, accompanied by Mene- 
nius. The latter, — evidently encouraging the re- 
luctant candidate, — urges him to seize this oppor- 
tunity to win the votes of some men passing by. 
Stiffly and ungraciously, — for he would rather bid 
the plebeians keep at a distance and wash their 
faces, — Coriolanus now bespeaks these men's votes. 
When asked, as usual, what claim he urges to such 
a distinction, he haughtily rejoins his ' own deserts,' 
thereby further antagonising his interlocutors, who 
feel his election depends solely upon their favour. 
Still, notwithstanding his repellent attitude, Corio- 
lanus succeeds in winning a few votes, although he 
obstinately refuses to exhibit his wounds, and res- 



Coriolanus 167 

tively cries, ' Better it is to die, better to starve, 
than crave the hire which first we do deserve.' 

Nevertheless, with a sneer he cannot entirely 
suppress, Coriolanus concludes that, having gone so 
far, it is best to continue to the bitter end, and so 
goes on asking for votes in a surly way. It is at 
this moment Menenius returns with the tribunes, 
who sullenly inform Coriolanus, that having stayed 
in the market-place the customary length of time, 
and having won a certain number of popular votes, 
he is entitled to be invested with the emblems of" 
his office. But they angrily frown when he pro- 
poses to change his garments ere repairing to the 
senate with Menenius. When he has gone, they 
also comment upon his evident irritation, and see- 
ing some of the voters pass by, enquire why they 
favoured a man who mocks them, until they gradu- 
ally make them discontented with their choice. 
Finally they work the people up to the point of ex- 
claiming that Coriolanus, not having asked votes 
properly or exhibited his wounds, is unworthy of 
election, and that as he has not yet been installed 
in office, they will go to the senate and denounce 
him as their enemy. This decision delights both 
tribunes, who, after giving the mob explicit direc- 
tions how they are to proceed, watch the rabble out 
of sight, ere they, too, hasten to the Capitol, sepa- 
rately, for they do not wish to appear to have had 
any hand in the coming turmoil. 

Act III. The third act opens in a street in 
Rome, where Coriolanus, Menenius, and many 
others are welcoming Lartius, who has just re- 



1 68 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

turned, announcing that Aufldius is at Antium 
gathering new troops to attack Rome. This is 
startling news; but when Coriolanus hears the Vol- 
scian general longs to meet and beat him, he eagerly 
exclaims, ' I wish I had a cause to meet him there, 
to oppose his hatred fully.' 

Then, seeing the two tribunes arrive, he ex- 
presses contempt for ' the voice of the people,' and 
when they forbid him to advance any further, 
haughtily demands what this means, only to be told 
his election is not yet assured, as the people are 
incensed against him. Although Menenius strives 
to keep Coriolanus calm in face of this calculated 
insult, he doesn't succeed, for the hero hotly de- 
nounces the tribunes in the most sarcastic way, al- 
though they insist they are acting in behalf of 
the plebeians whom he has scorned and deprived 
of corn. Such remarks so incense Coriolanus that 
his contempt for the ' mutable, rank-scented many ' 
becomes more and more apparent. In fact, his 
remarks finally become so offensive that the tribunes 
declare they will make them known to the people. 
Hoping to deter them, Menenius reminds them they 
are stirring up evil feelings which will have bad re- 
sults; but in spite of his efforts, Coriolanus de- 
nounces the tribunes, declaring the senators were 
wrong to allow the people such officers, — a state- 
ment they consider such rank treason that they call 
for an aedile to arrest the traitor. But, when this 
officer appears to lay hands on Coriolanus, he is 
reviled and beaten off by the hero's friends. 

The ensuing commotion attracts a rabble of 



Coriolanus 1 69 

plebeians, and although Menenius pleads for mod- 
eration on both sides, the tribunes instigate rabid 
cries against Coriolanus for refusing corn gratis. 
Thus, before long, the hero is surrounded by a 
mutinous rabble; for, in spite of the speeches of 
Menenius and of some of the senators in his behalf, 
the tribunes persuade the people to take their re- 
marks in bad part, to accuse Coriolanus of trying 
to destroy the city, to refuse to let him become con- 
sul, to call him traitor, and to clamour for his 
death. Unable to brook the disgrace of arrest by an 
aedile, Coriolanus finally draws his sword, swearing 
some of them have already seen him fight and that 
he will now give the rest a chance to see what he 
can do. In the midst of the confusion caused by 
Menenius' cries for peace, and the tribunes' 
clamours to have Coriolanus arrested, a fight en- 
sues, in which Coriolanus and the patrician party 
succeed in defeating the plebeians. This being ac- 
complished, Menenius entreats Coriolanus to return 
home, while some of the other patricians bid him 
stand fast and hold his own. Although Coriolanus 
would feel no compunctions were he dealing only 
with foes, he yields to Menenius and Cominius 
when they urge him to forbear, and goes .off with 
them, while a patrician sagely concludes he has 
1 marred his fortunes,' because his nature is too noble 
to stoop to flattery. 

The tribunes soon return, heading a rabble de- 
manding the traitor who spoke ill of the Roman 
people, as they wish to throw him down from the 
Tarpeian Rock like a common criminal. Even 



170 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

Menenius' remonstrances are not heeded, and when 
he states that Coriolanus, — as consul, — cannot be 
touched, the cry arises he shall never hold office, 
as the people won't be governed by him. If he can- 
not be executed, the tribunes demand his banish- 
ment, although Menenius begs them to overlook 
Coriolanus' hasty words. All his eloquence can 
obtain is permission to seek the hero, and prevail 
upon him to apologise in the Forum, in which case 
the people will consider whether they can forgive 
him. 

The curtain next rises in a room of Coriolanus' 
house, where, conversing with Menenius and the 
patricians, he vehemently declares that, although they 
pull his house down over his head, or hurl him from 
the Tarpeian Rock, he will never truckle to plebeians 
again! To his great surprise, however, his mother 
does not approve of these sentiments, although she 
fostered this intense pride; in fact, when he asks 
whether she would see him false to her teachings, she 
opines he should have held his feelings in check 
until invested with authority. Next Menenius urges 
that unless he apologise, their good city will ' cleave 
in the midst, and perish,' an opinion seconded by the 
rest, which determines Coriolanus to be influenced 
by his friends, and humbly accept his mother's sug- 
gestions in regard to the style of address he is to 
make. Thus schooled, the senators and Cominius 
escort him to the Forum, warning him every step 
of the way to restrain his wrath and speak ■ mildly,' 
because meanwhile the tribunes have been steeling 
the people's hearts against him. 



Coriolanus 171 

We are next transferred to the Forum once more, 
where the tribunes are eagerly plotting to charge 
Coriolanus with affecting tyrannical powers, and 
with not justly distributing the spoil. They are 
soon joined by an asdile, announcing that Coriolanus 
is coming, accompanied by the patricians who fa- 
vour him. He adds that the disaffected people have 
been assembled and duly instructed, and seems glad 
when the tribunes state at their mention of fine, 
banishment, or death, the plebeians will take up the 
cry, until there will seem no appeal against the 
popular sentence. These measures settled, the asdile 
withdraws, while one of the tribunes arranges to 
irritate Coriolanus by repeated contradictions, thus 
forcing him to speak out so boldly and intemperately 
that he will be condemned by his own mouth. 

When Coriolanus, therefore, reluctantly appears, 
the aedile ushers in the citizens, whom the tribunes 
invite to draw near so as to hear what Coriolanus 
has to say. Then, in the presence of the mob, the 
tribunes demand that the consular candidate submit 
to lawful censure for his behaviour. But while 
Menenius tries to turn the tide by mentioning 
Coriolanus' services and wounds, the hero himself 
unwisely pronounces them trifling matters, and by 
such bluntness further antagonises the commoners, 
although Menenius reminds him to keep calm and 
conciliate them. When openly accused by one of the 
tribunes of treachery, Coriolanus, unable to restrain 
his wrath, publicly calls him a liar, which insult the 
tribune bids the people note. Thereupon cries arise, 
■ to the rock, to the rock with him ! ' until the 



172 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

tribune calls for silence, stating that, although 
Coriolanus deserves death for opposing the laws, his 
services in behalf of Rome entitle him to certain 
consideration. 

This statement proves so offensive that Coriolanus 
declares he would rather be sentenced to death or 
exiled than have anything more to do with un- 
grateful people. Whereupon the tribune immedi- 
ately pronounces the sentence of banishment, and, 
as prearranged, the people shout Coriolanus shall 
leave Rome under penalty of death ! In spite of all 
Cominius can do, these shouts become so persistent 
that the banishment is decreed, while Coriolanus 
fiercely avers he is glad to leave a place where he is 
so misunderstood. Ere he departs, however, he 
reviles both tribunes and people, showing them how 
he despises them, and reminding them that, when 
he has turned his back upon the city, they will be 
defenceless. When Coriolanus has departed with 
the patricians, the plebeians and aediles shout for 
joy, thinking they are rid of a foe, and the tribunes 
decide it will be well to see Coriolanus safely out 
of the city. They, therefore, bid the citizens ac- 
company them, a duty these men perform with en- 
thusiasm, calling upon the gods to preserve their 
noble tribunes! 

Act IV. The fourth act opens before the gates 
of Rome, where Coriolanus is taking leave of fam- 
ily and friends, urging his mother, Volumnia, to 
remember her own teaching, for she has always 
told him that ' extremity was the trier of spirits,' 
and has striven by wise precepts to steel him against 



Coriolanus 173 

fate. The tears of his wife, however, almost un- 
man him ; still, when his mother curses the Romans, 
he reminds her she is not acting in a patriotic man- 
ner. Then Coriolanus pities Menenius, whose tears 
are far more bitter than those of a young man, and 
refuses Cominius' proffered company for a month, 
although he seems glad to accept his escort a short 
distance. After exchanging touching farewells with 
his wife, mother, and friends, Coriolanus departs, 
saying they shall hear from him often, but ■ never 
of me aught but what is like me formerly.' 

A little later the two tribunes and an aedile are 
seen on the street gloating over the fact that they 
have seen the last of Coriolanus. But, although 
triumphant, they deem it best to show humility and 
bid the aedile dismiss the mob which is no longer 
needed. Then, seeing the women return from the 
gate, the tribunes try to avoid them, but are unable 
to do so. When they come face to face, Volumni-a 
vehemently reviles her son's enemies, — although 
Menenius tries to restrain her, — and silencing every 
remark the tribunes try to make, declares her noble 
son as far exceeds them as the Capitol does the mean- 
est house in Rome. 

We next behold a highway between Rome and 
Antium, where a Roman and Volscian, meeting, be- 
gin to converse about public affairs. On hearing 
the Roman report Coriolanus has been banished, and 
that the two political parties in Rome are divided, 
the Volscian expresses great delight, since his general 
means to take advantage of this unfortunate state of 
affairs to attack Rome. He predicts that, know- 



174 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

ing his worst enemy, Coriolanus, has been banished, 
Aufidius will surely be victorious in this campaign. 

The succeeding scene is played in Antium before 
Aufidius' house, whither Coriolanus arrives dis- 
guised as a beggar, and mutters that having made 
so many widows in this city, it will be best not 
to make his presence known. Accosting a passing 
citizen, therefore, Coriolanus merely enquires for 
Aufidius' house, and is surprised to learn he is stand- 
ing directly before it, and that the general is enter- 
taining the senators that night. But, when his inter- 
locutor passes on, Coriolanus bitterly muses on the 
change in his fortunes, for he, who was once Au- 
fidius' greatest foe, has come hither to join forces 
with him for the sake of revenge ! 

A moment later he has penetrated into the hall 
of Aufidius' house, where servants pass to and fro, 
while music is heard in an inner apartment. Re- 
peatedly dismissed by the servants, — who take him 
for a beggar, and bid him begone, — Coriolanus, in 
spite of these orders, presses on to the hearth, whence, 
not daring to oust him, they call their master to 
turn him out. A moment later Aufidius, seeing a 
beggar on his hearth, enquires who he is? Remov- 
ing the folds of his mantle, Coriolanus, as Aufidius 
does not recognise him, prepares him for the an- 
nouncement of his name, by stating it is unmusical 
to Volscian ears. Then the exile makes himself 
known, adding he has been driven out of Rome and 
has come here to seek revenge. When he grimly 
proposes to join the Volscians and help Aufidius in 
his present undertaking, the general exclaims in de- 



Coriolanus 175 

light, and offers him one-half of his command so 
he may lead a force against his native city. Then 
he leads him off to introduce him to the senators in 
the banquet hall, where a warm welcome awaits 
him. 

When Coriolanus and Aufidius have passed off the 
stage, the servants claim they noticed something 
imposing in the stranger's bearing, and are delighted 
not to have followed their first impulse to turn 
him out of doors. The alliance just concluded be- 
tween Aufidius and Coriolanus wins their full ap- 
proval, and they rejoice at the prospect of great 
victories, when one of their companions reports how 
gladly the senators are welcoming him. 

We are now transferred to the public square in 
Rome, where the tribunes congratulate themselves 
upon the peaceful mood of the people, but wonder 
no news has been heard of Coriolanus. While they 
are talking, Menenius appears, and when they taunt 
him, saying his friend is not missed, he warns them 
they may yet have cause to regret their action, al- 
though he admits neither wife nor mother has 
heard from the banished man. The people around 
him are showing great adulation to the triumphant 
tribunes, when an zedile joins them, stating a slave 
has just been imprisoned for reporting the Volscian 
armies have entered Roman territory. While Mene- 
nius deems Aufidius' forces have been emboldened 
by Coriolanus' absence, the tribunes discredit these 
tidings and exclaim the slave should be whipped. 
But, before measures can be taken to inflict such a 
punishment, or to question the man as Menenius 



176 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

suggests, another messenger proclaims that all the 
senators are hastening to the Capitol, with sober 
faces, owing to ominous news received. 

Although the tribunes ascribe this perturbation to 
the slave's false report, the messenger affirms it has 
been ascertained Coriolanus has joined forces with 
Aufldius, and that both are about to attack Rome. 
His news is confirmed by another man, who reports 
the troops are advancing in two columns, one led 
by Coriolanus in person. After the tribunes have 
hurried away, Cominius and Menenius vehemently 
reproach the plebeians for their share in the recent 
troubles, predicting that if Coriolanus has really 
joined the Volscians, Rome will be destroyed. Ere 
dispersing, the terrified citizens blame their tribunes 
for misleading them, declaring they were opposed to 
Coriolanus' banishment, and would fain have him 
recalled. For that reason, the tribunes ruefully 
comment on the variability of popular moods as soon 
as they leave the stage, but privately admit that the 
news they have heard is alarming indeed. 

The scene is now transferred to a camp near 
Rome, where Aufldius asks his lieutenant whether 
people are still flocking to Coriolanus' standard? 
This man rejoins there must be witchcraft in the 
Roman, and that Aufldius has obscured his own 
reputation by accepting so powerful an ally. Al- 
though ruefully admitting he has made a mistake, 
Aufldius cannot change matters now, and tries to 
excuse Coriolanus' haughty bearing as innate. He 
adds that their new ally is faithfully doing all he can 
for the Volscian people, that it is likely he will soon 



Coriolanus 177 

take Rome and lay down the law there to those who 
judged him, and that, after this consummation is 
reached, his former foe and present ally will be 
wholly in his power. 

Act V. The fifth act opens on the public square 
in Rome, where two tribunes, Menenius, and Comi- 
nius meet with sundry others. All are talking ex- 
citedly and we soon gather that Cominius has vainly 
entreated Coriolanus to spare the city. Although 
admitting the banished man often termed him 
* father,' Menenius refuses to go forth to plead with 
him in his turn. Instead, he reproaches the tribunes 
for having stirred up this trouble, and consents to 
intercede only after repeated entreaties on their 
part, although he cherishes little hope of success. 

Knowing human nature, he decides it will be 
best to approach Coriolanus after dinner, when he 
will feel more inclined to mercy. But after Mene- 
nius has departed, Cominius sadly avers he doesn't 
expect him to succeed, as the hero is brooding on 
revenge, and after listening coldly to him, dismissed 
him, vowing unless Rome subscribed to his conditions 
her fate was sealed. The consul adds that Corio- 
lanus' mother and wife are about to go forth to 
solicit his mercy, and that he trusts their prayers 
may avail even if all the rest fail. 

The next scene occurs in the Volscian camp, 
where sentinels check Menenius' approach, although 
he proclaims he is an emissary from Rome to their 
general. It is only after a lengthy parley, and after 
angry assurances that they will be punished if they 
deny him access, that the noise of this discussion 



178 Stories of Shakespeare* s Tragedies 

attracts Coriolanus and Aufldius. Boasting that the 
sentinels will now see in what honour he is held, 
Menenius approaches Coriolanus, whom he addresses 
as his son, pleading, with tears, in Rome's behalf. 
In reply, Coriolanus states he does not know the 
Romans any longer, and hands Menenius a letter 
he had intended to send him. Then, turning to 
Aufldius, Coriolanus bids him note what reply he 
makes to such attempts to soften his heart and how 
true he remains to Volscian interests. After this 
Coriolanus and Aufldius depart, the latter compli- 
menting his ally upon his ' constant temper,' while 
the sentinels slyly taunt Menenius for having less 
influence than he supposed with their general, thus 
calling down upon their heads the vehement curses 
of the departing senator. 

We next behold the interior of Coriolanus' tent, 
where he is explaining to Aufldius and other com- 
manders the plans he has made, stating that on the 
morrow they will be before the walls of Rome. 
At Coriolanus' request, Aufldius bears witness to his 
fidelity to the Volscians, and to his steadfastness in 
repelling all intercessions. Just as Coriolanus has 
vowed he will listen to no further pleading, his wife, 
mother, and little son are ushered in with their 
friends, having come hither to implore him to spare 
his country. On seeing them, Coriolanus realises 
with a pang that those he loves best are about to be- 
siege his heart. Still he tenderly embraces his wife, 
assuring her he has not kissed any one else since 
they parted, and falls on one knee before Volumnia, 
who bids him stand and let her kneel, since she has 



Coriolanus 179 

come as a suppliant. Although Coriolanus feels the 
stars must have fallen from their orbits since posi- 
tions are so reversed, he courteously greets Valeria at 
his mother's request, and when his little son is made 
to kneel before him, perceives how they are trying 
to soften him by every means in their power. He, 
therefore, sternly assures them that it will be vain to 
ask him to dismiss his soldiers or make peace with 
the plebeians, since he is now an ally of the Vol- 
scians and obliged to serve them. Then, seeing 
Aufidius and the other chiefs draw suspiciously 
aside, he bids them listen to all that is said, for 
he wishes them to see he is wholly devoted to their 
interests. 

His mother now describes how they have spent 
their time since his departure in tears, her eloquent 
speech being backed by Virgilia's trembling hands 
raised in entreaty, and by a defiant speech from the 
child when his grandmother exclaims his father is 
about to tread on their hearts. Unable to endure 
longer the torture of such prayers, Coriolanus rises 
as if to leave, but his mother clings frantically to 
him, vowing he shall not depart until he has shown 
mercy. The united eloquence of mother, wife, and 
child, finally prevails, for, exclaiming his mother 
doesn't know what she has done in winning this vic- 
tory for Rome, Coriolanus turns to Aufidius, promis- 
ing to conclude an honourable peace, and challeng- 
ing him to act differently in his stead. 

Although admitting the women's prayers touched 
him, Aufidius, — when Coriolanus announces he will 
never march on to Rome, — mutters in an aside that 



180 Stories of Shakespeare 1 s Tragedies 

since mercy and honour are at difference in his ally, 
he'll take advantage of this fact to work out his 
own fortunes. Addressing the women, meantime, 
Coriolanus promises to give them a treaty to bear 
back to Rome, adding that they deserve to have a 
temple built in their honour, for ' all the swords in 
Italy, and her confederate arms, could not have 
made this peace.' 

The curtain next rises on the Forum in Rome, 
where Menenius is assuring a tribune it would be 
easier to displace a corner-stone of the Capitol 
than to change Coriolanus' heart. When the trib- 
une urges that Coriolanus is devoted to his mother, 
Menenius retorts ' there is no more mercy in him 
than there is milk in a male tiger.' Terrified by this 
assurance, the tribune starts when a messenger runs 
in, bidding him flee for his life, for the people 
have seized his fellow in office, and swear that, 
unless the women return with news of peace, they 
will slay the men who devised Coriolanus' banish- 
ment! A moment later another messenger joy- 
fully announces the ladies have prevailed, — news 
the tribune refuses to credit until loud trumpet 
blasts confirm it. Greatly relieved, Menenius pre- 
pares to go and meet the ladies, who have done more 
for Rome than tribunes, senators, and people put 
together. Not to remain behind at a time of joy, the 
tribune accompanies the patricians, who hasten off 
in a body to meet the bearers of good tidings. 

Further on, in a street near the gate, two senators 
soon appear escorting Volumnia and the other ladies 
back to the city, calling out to the people as they 



Coriolanus 1 8 1 

pass that the peace is due to these ladies, who are, 
therefore, entitled to honour and acclamation. 

We next behold the public square at Antium, 
where Aufidius arrives, saying he wishes the lords of 
the city apprised of his return, as it is his duty to 
denounce a man who will soon enter the city. Soon 
after he is joined by a few members of his faction 
who come with eager offers of assistance. When 
they suggest that the fall of Coriolanus will leave 
him sole wielder of the power, Aufidius doubts 
whether it is advisable to resort to drastic measures, 
and describes how Coriolanus appealed to him, and 
how bravely they marched together toward Rome. 
This was already within their grasp, when, influ- 
enced by women's tears, Coriolanus concluded the 
peace for which he is to die! 

The noise of trumpets and cheers now heralds 
Coriolanus' approach, and the conspirators exclaim 
that if Aufidius wishes to remain master he must get 
rid of his rival. While he is trying to silence them, 
the lords of the city appear, and begin to reproach 
him for yielding to Coriolanus' desire for peace. 

Just then this Roman joins them, vowing he is 
as true to their interests as ever, and tendering the 
peace he has concluded with all due regard to Vol- 
scian interests. Imploring all present not to read it, 
Aufidius hotly denounces Coriolanus as a traitor, 
who has abused the people's confidence and betrayed 
them at his mother's request! 

Such a statement necessarily provokes a quarrel, 
during which Aufidius treats Coriolanus with such 
contempt, that the hero proudly rehearses his great 



1 82 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

deeds, including the taking of Corioli, and demands 
whether such are the deeds of a ' boy ' ? This re- 
minds the Volscians that he has slain many of their 
kin, and, rousing their passions, makes them clamour 
for his death. Under pretence of obeying these 
angry people, the conspirators now rush forward, and 
repeatedly stab Coriolanus, who falls lifeless at Au- 
fidius' feet, while the Volscian lords stand by 
appalled. 

Standing on the corpse of his fallen foe, Aufidius 
promises an explanation which will cause all to re- 
joice that a threatening danger has been averted. 
Then the Lords of Corioli order the body removed 
with all honour, Aufidius adding: 'Though in this 
city he hath widow'd and unchilded many a one, 
which to this hour bewail the injury, yet he shall 
have a noble memory.' 



JULIUS CESAR 

• 

Act I. In a street in Rome, two tribunes are 
urging some bystanders to hasten off to their work, 
for a Roman law prohibits workmen being seen 
abroad, save on feast days, without the implements 
of their trade. Challenged in regard to his occu- 
pations, a witty cobbler replies ambiguously, ere 
explaining that he and his companions have come 
hither to witness Caesar's triumphal entry into Rome. 
Because they are partisans of Pompey, whom Caesar 
has conquered, the tribunes, after reminding these 
men of former triumphs, order them to leave the 
scene; then they remove all festive tokens from the 
images, for they wish to deprive the hated victor 
of as much honour as possible; 

We next behold a public square, where Caesar 
bids his wife, Calpurnia, stand close beside the 
course of the Lupercalian runners, as their touch is 
supposed to have a special potency upon barren 
women. Then he adjures Antony not to forget 
her, before a flourish of trumpets warns the con- 
testants to take their places. Just then a soothsayer 
loudly cries ' Caesar ! ' and, although bystanders try 
to silence him, utters the portentous warning: ' Be- 
ware the ides of March.' Startled by these words, 
Caesar has the soothsayer summoned into his pres- 
ence, but as the man only repeats his oracular say- 

183 



184 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

ing, soon dismisses him with scorn. While he and 
the rest depart to view the races, Brutus and Cassius, 
left alone upon the stage, begin a conversation, 
wherein, after reproaching Brutus for being less 
friendly of late, Cassius learns he is at war with 
himself, but flatteringly assures him that were he 
to see himself as others see him, he would realise 
he was the most respected man in Rome! 

At this juncture loud cheers are heard, and 
Brutus nervously exclaims he fears they are choosing 
Caesar for their king, — a thought abhorrent to a 
namesake of the man who drove the Tarquins from 
Rome, and established a republic nearly three cen- 
turies before. This remark gives artful Cassius a 
clue to his interlocutor's feelings of which he takes 
immediate advantage, assuring Brutus, — who insists 
that, although he loves Caesar, he is ready to sacri- 
fice everything to the general good, — that they were 
1 born free as Caesar,' whose inferior physical 
strength he derides, having saved him from drown- 
ing during a swimming match, and nursed him dur- 
ing a fever in Spain. He is just wondering that 
* a man of such a feeble temper ' should so ' get the 
start of the majestic world, and bear the palm alone,' 
when the cheers are renewed, thus forcing these 
two interlocutors to conclude new honours have been 
awarded to the man whom they fear because he 
1 doth bestride the narrow world like a Colossus.' 

Urging that, as ' men are masters of their fates,' 
it rests with them alone whether they shall be under- 
lings, Cassius artfully increases Brutus' dissatisfac- 
tion by enquiring why Caesar's name should be 



Julius Casar 185 

sounded more than his? He uses, besides, clever 
flattery to induce Brutus to admit by degrees that 
having pondered deeply the matters in regard to 
which hints have been dropped, he will not be averse 
to hear more about them at a fitting time, although 
he swears he had ' rather be a villager than to 
repute himself a son of Rome under these hard con- 
ditions as this time is likely to lay upon ' them. 

Satisfied with the progress he has made in win- 
ning Brutus to join the plot he is meditating, Cas- 
sius next suggests he ' pluck Casca by the sleeve,' 
when he passes by, to find out the cause of the cheers 
which have thrice been heard. When Caesar and his 
train reappear, Brutus shrewdly concludes from 
Caesar's frown, Calpurnia's pallor, and Cicero's 
ferret-like glance, that matters of moment have oc- 
curred. Full of curiosity, therefore, he detains 
Casca, the sycophant, while Caesar, summoning An- 
tony, remarks meaningly that he likes about him 
men ' that are fat ; sleek-headed men and such as 
sleep o' nights ; ' adding that he considers Cassius, 
who ' has a lean and hungry look,' most dangerous. 
He thereby reveals that he has detected with un- 
erring glance the real head of the coming conspiracy. 
When Antony good-naturedly assures him Cassius 
is not to be feared, he declares the man reads too 
much, indulges in no pleasures, and smiles too sel- 
dom, ere he passes on, bidding Antony come to his 
other side for he is deaf in one ear, and thus cannot 
hear easily in a crowd. 

All having gone save Brutus, Cassius, and Casca, 
the latter, in reply to his companions' eager ques- 



1 86 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

tions, relates how Antony thrice offered a crown to 
Caesar, which was thrice refused by him, amid such 
cheers from the populace that the air, vitiated by 
their breath, caused Caesar to swoon and froth at 
the mouth, symptoms of disease Brutus has often 
noted. But although Casca has hitherto acted as 
flatterer to Caesar, it soon becomes evident he does 
not really like him, for he boasts that on Caesar's 
recovering and plucking open his garments, — offer- 
ing his throat to be cut as pledge of his good faith 
toward the Roman people, — he would gladly have 
availed himself of the opportunity to kill him. When 
asked whether Cicero made any comments upon this 
scene, Casca replies he did so in Greek, which was 
all ' Greek to him,' ere adding the information that 
the tribunes have been punished for tearing down the 
trophies erected in Caesar's honour ! Then, declining 
an invitation to supper that evening, Casca pledges 
himself to meet Cassius on the morrow and departs. 

While Brutus comments upon Casca's blunt ways, 
Cassius remarks he is quick to execute any bold or 
noble plan, his very rudeness being the ' sauce to his 
good wit.' Then, after appointing a meeting with 
Brutus for the morrow, Cassius watches him out of 
sight, shrewdly soliloquising that however noble his 
friend may be, he is not proof against flattery ! Still, 
because Caesar loves Brutus, Cassius is determined to 
win this man's support in his scheme. He, therefore, 
plans to throw in at his window and place along his 
path anonymous writings, all tending to warn him 
against Caesar's ' vaulting ' ambition. 

The curtain next rises upon the streets of Rome, 



Julius Casar 187 

in the midst of a violent electric storm, which fills 
all hearts with superstitious fears. Rushing along 
with drawn sword, Casca encounters Cicero, who is 
returning after escorting Caesar home, and assures 
him that nothing short of ' civil strife in heaven,' or 
some great coming evil, can account for such a dis- 
play of lightning, or for sundry extraordinary por- 
tents which he enumerates. Then, asked whether 
Caesar will visit the Capitol on the morrow in spite 
of all this, Casca reports that the great man bade 
Antony meet him there when they parted a while 
ago. 

No sooner has Cicero gone to seek shelter, than 
Cassius comes up, and recognises Casca by his voice. 
They, too, comment upon the unusual phenomena, 
Casca vowing it is ' the part of men to fear and 
tremble ' under such circumstances, while Cassius 
exclaims they are being divinely warned to arm 
against the man who most resembles this awful 
night! This hint makes Casca eagerly enquire 
whether he means Caesar, but, unwilling to put his 
accusations into more definite words, Cassius merely 
dilates on the old Roman spirit. He listens atten- 
tively, however, to Casca's report that the senators 
propose to make Caesar king on the morrow, allow- 
ing him to wear a crown everywhere save in Rome, 
and grimly swears in that case Cassius will deliver 
himself from bondage by using his dagger! But, 
when he hears that Casca, too, hates the idea of a 
tyrant, he confides to him that a number of the 
noblest-minded Romans are meeting to plan ' an 
enterprise of honourable-dangerous consequence,' and 



1 88 StGries of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

are even now awaiting his coming in Pompey's 
porch. 

It is at this moment Cinna joins them, and after 
reminding Cassius that his friends expect him, begs 
him to urge Brutus to join their ranks. In return, 
Cassius gives him sundry papers, to place on Old 
Brutus' statue, on the praetor's chair, and on Brutus' 
window-sill, before he rejoins them in Pompey's 
porch. Then, taking Casca with him to enlighten 
him further in regard to their plans, Cassius departs, 
exclaiming that Brutus being already three-fourths 
won, will be wholly theirs ere long. This assur- 
ance delights Casca, who fervently exclaims : ' O, 
he sits high in all the people's hearts,' adding that 
what might seem presumption in them alone, will, 
if Brutus favour it, ' change to virtue and to worthi- 
ness.' 

Act II. The second act opens in Brutus' gar- 
den, where, unable to sleep, he is walking at night. 
Summoning a drowsy servant, he bids him place a 
light in his study, musing, after the lad has gone, 
that, although devoid of personal grudge against 
Caesar, he can kill him for the public good. Once 
crowned, he deems Caesar's nature may undergo a 
complete change, and that, having reached the top 
of ambition's ladder, he may scorn ' the base de- 
grees by which he did ascend.' For that reason, 
Brutus deems it best to treat him ' like a serpent's 
egg,' and crush him ere he can become a menace td 
the Roman Republic! 

The return of his servant, announcing that his 
lamp is lighted, and that a letter addressed to him 




A. Zick 



MARK ANTONY'S FUNERAL ORATION 

Ant. "Kind souls, what, weep you, when you but behold 
Our Caesar's vesture wounded? Look you here, 
Here is himself, marr'd as you see," 



Julius Caesar, Act 3, Scene 2. 



Julius Casar 189 

lay on his window-sill, checks further meditation. 
Bidding the lad find out whether the ides of 
March occur on the morrow, Brutus takes advan- 
tage of the heat-lightning to peruse the mysterious 
missive, which consists of sentences purposely un- 
finished, but which imagination can easily piece out. 
They repeatedly admonish him to ' speak, strike, 
redress,' in the name of his famous ancestor, and 
for the sake of the glorious republic he founded! 
Brutus has barely sworn Rome shall not have ap- 
pealed to him in vain, when his servant reports the 
ides fall on the morrow, just as a loud knock 
startles them both. While the lad hastens to the 
door, Brutus ejaculates he has not been able to 
sleep ' since Cassius first did whet me against Caesar/ 
adding that ' between the acting of a dreadful thing 
and the first motion, all the interim is like a phan- 
tasma, or a hideous dream.' 

In reply to the announcement that Cassius and 
others — whom the servant cannot name because their 
faces are hidden by folds of their togas — beg ad- 
mittance, Brutus orders them shown into his pres- 
ence, muttering after his man has gone, that this 
must be the faction which dares not show its ' dan- 
gerous brow by night,' and for which no darkness 
can be too dense. Then the conspirators are ushered 
in, Cassius, the spokesman, after a scant apology, 
introducing his companions. Next, he draws Brutus 
aside for a brief private conference, while his com- 
panions, — not to seem to listen, — indulge in irrele- 
vant conversation, to which Casca gives a significant 
turn just as Brutus again joins them. But, when 



190 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

Casca proposes that all present bind themselves by 
an oath of secrecy, Brutus urges Romans need no 
spur save their own cause ' to prick them to re- 
dress/ adding that oaths are intended to bind cow- 
ards, and that any man who failed to carry out this 
pact would be beneath contempt. Hearing Cassius 
enquire whether Cicero should be invited to join 
them, Brutus, after listening to the opinions of the 
rest, suggests that Cicero is too accustomed to lead 
to follow any one else. All, therefore, decide to 
leave him out of their conspiracy, which is to be 
directed against Caesar only, although Cassius sug- 
gests removing Antony also. 

Arguing that a double murder would make their 
course appear too bloody, and that Antony will be 
harmless when Caesar is no more, Brutus expresses 
regret that even one dangerous Roman should have 
to be sacrificed. He then advises the conspirators 
to proceed boldly, declaring all Antony can do is 
to die for Caesar, a sacrifice hardly to be expected 
from such a pleasure-loving nature. The striking 
of the third hour warns the conspirators to part, 
just as Cassius suggests that superstitious Caesar may 
be deterred from going to the senate by the night's 
fearful presages, and by the soothsayer's warning in 
regard to the ides of March. To prevent his linger- 
ing at home, Decius, one of the conspirators, under- 
takes to persuade him, and all agree to meet and 
escort the great man to the senate, showing them- 
selves true Romans when the decisive moment comes. 

All having gone, Brutus, after pledging himself 
to secure another ally, marvels at his servant's sound 



Julius Casar 191 

sleep. Then his wife, Portia, joins him, having 
purposely left her bed to enquire what has so trou- 
bled him of late that he cannot rest? When 
Brutus assures her he is not ill, Portia implores 
him, by all he holds sacred, to disclose what is on 
his mind, and why six or seven men stole through 
the darkness to hold secret conference with him? 
Although determined to resist her persistent en- 
treaties to share his anxieties as a loyal wife should, 
Brutus seems conquered when she shows him with 
what fortitude she has endured a self-inflicted 
wound, and has just promised to tell her all when 
loud knocking warns them to part. 

Having watched Portia out of sight, and roused 
his servant to open the door, Brutus is next called 
upon to receive a man who pretends to be ill, but 
who, in reality, is a new member of the conspiracy, 
ready to risk even the impossible for Rome. Sure of 
his loyalty, Brutus promises to unfold to him the 
details of their plot, and both leave the scene to- 
gether, the conspirator promising to follow wherever 
Brutus leads! 

We next behold Caesar's house, just as he emerges 
from his bedroom, exclaiming that the storm and 
his wife's restless, thrice-repeated cries of ' Help, 
ho ! they murder Caesar ! ' have not permitted him 
to rest. Prompted by his superstitious inclinations, 
he directs a servant to bid the priests offer a sacri- 
fice, sending him immediate word what omens they 
find. 

When the man has gone, Caesar is joined by Cal- 
purnia, who vows he shall not leave the house that 



192 Stories of Shakespeare' s Tragedies 

day. Although he haughtily rejoins that ' the things 
that threaten'd me ne'er look'd but on my back; 
when they shall see the face of Csesar, they are van- 
ished,' his confidence fails to reassure her, for she 
excitedly enumerates the extraordinary portents of 
the night as so many warnings. She is, however, 
contemptuously told ' cowards die many times be- 
fore their deaths;' just as the servant brings word 
that the priests, too, bid him remain at home. In 
her anxiety, Calpurnia now falls at her husband's 
feet, and has barely wrung from him a promise to 
tarry with her, when the conspirators appear to 
escort him to the senate. 

Decius, who promised to determine Caesar to go 
thither, is haughtily told to inform the senate 
* Caesar will not come,' a bald excuse which causes so 
much comment that Caesar condescendingly explains 
he is lingering at home to please his wife. Whereas 
his first excuse was discourteous, this one seems so 
puerile, that Decius spurns it, declaring the senate 
will doubtless think better of their intention to 
offer him a crown, should he not appear. Equally 
afraid of seeming afraid, or too ready to yield to 
his wife's foolish fancies, Caesar finally decides to 
go, notwithstanding Calpurnia's dreams, and gra- 
ciously greets the rest of the conspirators, when they 
arrive together with Antony, who is rallied on 
early rising. Leaving his house with them, Caesar 
bids one of their number keep close beside him, 
whereupon this man utters the grim aside, ' so near 
will I be, that your best friends shall wish I had 
been further.' 



Julius Casar 193 

The next scene occurs in a narrow street, leading 
up to the Capitol, where Artemidorus, a rhetorician, 
is reading a paper, warning Caesar to guard against 
the conspirators, who are duly named, and among 
whom but one mind reigns and that ' bent against 
Caesar.' This paper he intends to hand to the 
great man, for he murmurs, ' if thou read this, O 
Caesar, thou mayst live; if not, the Fates with 
traitors do contrive.' 

In another part of the same street Portia issues 
from her house, excitedly bidding her servant run 
to the senate for news. As the man pauses to 
await further orders, she chides him for delay, vow- 
ing she could have gone there and back while he 
deliberates! But, when asked to give more definite 
orders, Portia, — who merely suspects what is about 
to take place,— lamely bids the servant find out how 
his master looks, what Caesar is doing, and which 
senators approach him. Such is her nervous tension 
that, imagining she hears a tumult in the direction 
of the Capitol, she eagerly questions the rhetorician, 
on his way to entreat Caesar to ' befriend himself.' 
Being old, however, this man is bent upon seeking 
some more open place, lest he be crushed to death 
in this narrow street. Artemidorus having gone, 
Portia retires into her house to pray for the suc- 
cess of Brutus' suit, which he informs her servant 
1 Caesar will not grant.' 

Act III. The third act opens before the Capi- 
tol, where all are waiting for Caesar, who, perceiv- 
ing the soothsayer in the crowd, triumphantly tells 
him : ' the ides of March are come ! ' only to receive 



194 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

in reply the oracular, ' Ay, Caesar ; but not gone/ 
A moment later he is surrounded by petitioners, 
each urging his claim to special attention. Although 
these petitions thrust at him should have been pre- 
sented in the senate, Caesar accepts them all, paying 
little heed tb the one tendered by Artemidorus, 
although he is impressively told it concerns him 
closely. This very plea, however, defeats the rheto- 
rician's ends, for Caesar cries for the benefit of the 
crowd : ' What touches us ourself shall be last 
served,' ere he passes on. Arrived in the Capitol, 
Cassius starts when a man whispers to him, ' I 
wish your enterprise to-day may thrive.' Ter- 
rified to think their plan is discovered and 
may yet be disclosed to Caesar, Brutus and Cas- 
sius closely watch this man, and are relieved when 
after a mere greeting to Caesar, he draws Antony 
aside. According to a prearranged plan, and so as 
to have some excuse for approaching and attack- 
ing Caesar, the conspirators now crowd around him, 
each pleading in turn for the pardon of an offender 
the senate has banished. This pardon, — which he 
cannot legally grant, — Caesar sternly refuses, until 
Casca, — who has been reminded he is to strike 
first, — deals the great man a blow, immediately 
followed by a score of others, against which he 
vainly defends himself. But, when Brutus' hand 
strikes him, too, Caesar exclaims, ' Et tu, Brute ! 
Then fall, Caesar ! ' and sinks lifeless at the foot of 
the statue of his rival Pompey. 

Seeing him dead, the conspirators brandish aloft 
their bloody daggers, crying: 'Liberty! Freedom! 



Julius Casar 195 

Tyranny is dead ! ' until Brutus remarks it is time 
to inform the people that ' ambition's debt is paid.' 
The conspirators thereupon suggest that both Cas- 
sius and Brutus address the people from the public 
pulpits, and are about to escort them thither, when 
they learn that Antony has fled and that men, 
women, and children are rushing through the streets 
in a panic. Arguing themselves into the belief that 
by cutting Caesar's life short they have saved him 
from the fear of death and other woes, the con- 
spirators wash their hands in the noble blood they 
have shed, Cassius dramatically exclaiming how in 
future ages, this scene will be reenacted on the 
stage, where Caesar shall again be made to ' bleed 
in sport,' and adding that as often as this is done 
people will be reminded of ' the men that gave their 
country Liberty.' 

They are just starting for the Forum, Brutus 
leading the way, when Antony's servant kneels be- 
fore him, saying his master sent him humbly to ask 
Brutus,— whom he honours and loves, — why Caesar, 
whom he honoured and feared, has been put to 
death? He adds his master will be glad to hear 
Brutus' reason and will immediately join him if 
assured of safety. In reply to so flattering a speech, 
Brutus bids the man tell his master to come with- 
out fear and promises they will satisfy him. Then, 
while awaiting Antony's coming, Brutus assures 
Cassius, — still full of misgivings, — that they will 
soon win his adherence. 

A moment later Antony appears and pauses fas- 
cinated by the sight of ' mighty Caesar ' lying low ; 



196 Stories of Shake spear e } s Tragedies 

then, quite heedless of Brutus' greeting, he muses 
how the hero's conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils, 
can have ' shrunk to this little measure ? ' Only- 
after a solemn farewell to the corpse, does he turn 
to the conspirators, saying that, although he does not 
know why they have done this, nor whether they 
have designs against his life, no place or means of 
death could please him better than those which cut 
short ' the master spirit of this age.' 

In reply, Brutus assures him that however bloody 
and cruel they appear, they have slain Caesar only 
out of love of Rome, and cherish no evil designs 
against him. Then knowing how highly Antony 
values wealth and power, Cassius shrewdly adds 
he shall have as much influence as they in distrib- 
uting new dignities, a promise which Brutus 
confirms, although he begs to postpone all explana- 
tion until they have satisfied the people. Pretend- 
ing confidence in, and friendship for, all present, 
Antony shakes hands with them all, vowing that, 
although he loved Caesar and mourns his death, he 
trusts them as true patriots. Then, overcome by 
his feelings, he praises Caesar so eloquently that 
Cassius wonderingly enquires whether he will side 
with them or not? With renewed protestations of 
fidelity, Antony again promises to await their ex- 
planations, begging permission, meanwhile, to pro- 
nounce Caesar's funeral oration on the Forum. The 
unsuspecting Brutus immediately subscribes to this 
request, although Cassius warns him it may prove 
dangerous, for they do not know what Antony may 
say or do to move the people. Seeing he is to ad- 



Julius Casar 197 

dress the people first, and confident he can make 
them judge this matter rightly, Brutus does not 
heed these objections; but bids Antony take up the 
body, and pronounce the oration, saying all the 
good of Csesar he can, but plainly stating he has 
been authorised to speak by the conspirators, whom 
he is, however, not to blame for what they have 
done. 

All having left the scene save Antony, he ad- 
dresses the corpse in a wonderful speech, imploring 
the wounds to speak, so that the man who looms up 
greatest in the history of Rome can be honoured 
by a fitting funeral oration. He adds that this 
murder is but the prelude of wars and bloodshed 
which will devastate all Italy, until it will seem as 
if Caesar's great spirit were ' ranging for revenge.' 
His soliloquy ended, Antony is informed by Oc- 
tavius' servant that his master is near, and has re- 
ceived Caesar's letters. Then, suddenly beholding 
the august corpse, this servant bursts into tears 
which almost unman Antony, who, seeing this, be- 
speaks his aid to carry the remains to the Forum, 
ere he sends him back to warn Octavius that as yet 
there is no safety for him in Rome. 

We next behold the Roman Forum, where the 
citizens greet the conspirators with loud clamours 
for an explanation, whereupon Brutus suggests that 
Cassius take a part of them with him, while he ad- 
dresses the rest. The crowds follow either orator as 
they list, and when silence has been secured, Brutus 
begins a speech to ' Romans, countrymen, and 
lovers ! ' But, although he entreats all present to 



198 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

believe him for his honour's sake, and explains how 
he loved Rome even more than Caesar, and although 
he demands whether they prefer slavery to freedom, 
he gives no adequate explanation for what has just 
been done. Nevertheless, his eloquence so im- 
presses the mobile mob that, when he enquires 
whether they are offended, all fervently assure him 
they are not. 

It is just as his speech concludes that Antony 
and others bring in Caesar's body, whereupon* 
Brutus announces that Antony, — who had no share 
in the hero's death, — will pronounce his funeral 
oration, by permission of the conspirators, and 
winds up his peroration with the assurance that, 
should Rome ever require it, he will kill himself 
with the same dagger that slew Caesar! This part- 
ing burst of eloquence carries away the spectators, 
who, while crowding around Antony, loudly ex- 
press their admiration, and mutter that no one shall 
speak ill of Brutus under penalty of their wrath. 

Silence being restored, Antony, in his turn, ad- 
dresses them as ' Friends, Romans, countrymen,' 
announcing he has come ' to bury Caesar, not to 
praise him.' In his magnificent speech, he repeatedly 
assures his hearers that Brutus and the other con- 
spirators, — who are ' all honourable men,' — declare 
that Caesar was ambitious, and then gradually, but 
artfully, wins the mob's sympathy by reminding 
them of all Caesar has done for the Commonwealth. 

His emotional breaks, his allusions, and veiled sar- 
casms, soon produce a complete revulsion in popular 
opinion, and after he has mentioned the fact that the 



Julius Casar 199 

dead hero made a will in their favour, the listeners 
demand its purport. Instead of immediately grati- 
fying this curiosity, Antony feigns reluctance to 
comply, while further inflaming their anger against 
1 the honourable men whose daggers have stabb'd 
Caesar! ' 

Discovering by his hints that they are Caesar's 
heirs, the plebeians now clamour so loudly for more 
information, that Antony comes down from the 
rostrum and bids them cluster around the august 
corpse, where he pathetically points out rents in its 
cloak, designating that of Brutus, Caesar's friend, as 
the ' most unkindest cut of all.' His description of 
Caesar's death, after this visible proof of ingratitude, 
and his assurance that in that fall they all fell, 
' whilst bloody treason flourish'd over ' them, wrings 
groans and tears from the fickle populace, who, per- 
mitted at last to gaze upon the remains, become so 
excited that they clamour for revenge. While pre- 
tending to use every effort to quiet and restrain 
them by speaking in favour of Brutus and of his 
friends, Antony really adds fuel to the fire of their 
wrath, until, to prove how dearly Caesar loved them, 
he mentions how he left a sum of money to each 
citizen and bequeathed his chief estates as pleasure 
grounds for the people. This munificent donation, 
coming on top of all the rest, provokes a mad burst 
of enthusiasm among the spectators, who, without 
listening any longer, take possession of the corpse to 
burn it in the holy place, vowing they will set fire 
to the traitors' houses with brands from Caesar's 
pyre! 



200 Stories of Shakespeare* s Tragedies 

Meantime, Antony watches the raging of the 
popular tempest he has stirred up, muttering : ' Now 
let it work. Mischief, thou art afoot, take thou 
what course thou wilt ! ' When he is left alone on 
the scene of this tumult, Octavius' servant reports 
that his master and Lepidus are at Caesar's house, 
where Antony promises soon to join them, for he 
deems ' Fortune is merry, and in this mood will 
give us anything.' As they leave together, the serv- 
ant also relates how he saw Brutus and Cassius 
ride ' like madmen through the gates of Rome,' tid- 
ings which prove to Antony they have already 
learned the effect produced by his stirring funeral 
address. 

We next behold a Roman street, where a poet is 
wondering why a strange dream should have lured 
him out, just as the excited mob pounce upon him. 
Deeming him on account of his name one of the 
conspirators, they propose to slay him in spite of his 
protests, ere they rush off to burn down the con- 
spirators' houses. 

Act IV. The fourth act opens in a house in 
Rome, where the triumvirs, Antony, Octavius, and 
Lepidus, making out their proscription lists, sacri- 
fice sundry relatives to each other's wrath. Next 
Lepidus is directed to fetch Caesar's will so they can 
determine how to reduce the legacies as much as 
possible, and when he has gone to execute this 
order, Antony contemptuously terms him ' a slight, 
unmeritable man, meet to be sent on errands,' and 
openly regrets that one-third of the Roman world 
should be his to rule, the second triumvirate having 



Julius Casar 201 

thus divided it. Still, he comforts himself with 
the thought that for the present they can use Lepi- 
dus, and that when his services are no longer needed, 
they can turn him off, ' like to the empty ass, to 
shake his ears, and graze in commons.' Next, 
Antony remarks that as Brutus and Cassius are 
raising forces in Asia Minor, it behooves them to 
consult speedily with their friends how best to op- 
pose them. 

We are now transferred to a camp near Sardis, 
where Brutus halts before his tent, eagerly enquiring 
from the man on guard whether Cassius is near at 
hand? In reply a messenger from Cassius steps 
forward to deliver his master's greetings, to whom 
Brutus states he will be glad to see his fellow- 
conspirator, although the latter has given him 
' cause to wish things done, undone.' On learning 
from his own man that Cassius received him courte- 
ously, but far less familiarly than of old, Brutus 
shrewdly deems this an accurate description of ' a 
hot friend cooling,' and eagerly enquires whether 
Cassius will soon arrive with his force? His ques- 
tion is answered by a blast of trumpets, heralding 
Cassius at the head of his troops, which halt at his 
command, while he steps forward to exchange greet- 
ings with Brutus and reproach him for wronging 
him. Protesting that having never wronged his 
enemies he would be incapable of injuring a 
brother, Brutus checks Cassius' further remarks by 
inviting him into his tent, where they can confer 
unobserved. Orders are therefore given for the 
disposal of the soldiers, who are led off by sub- 



202 Stories of Shakespeare' s Tragedies 

ordinate officers, while Brutus and Cassius enter the 
tent, before which Brutus' servants mount guard. 

The next scene consists in the famous interview 
between the two ex-conspirators, wherein Cassius 
reproaches Brutus for having punished one of his 
men for accepting bribes from the Sardians, while 
Brutus rejoins that people justly accuse Cassius of 
having ' an itching palm,' and of being ready to 
sell offices even to undeservers. Hearing Cassius 
resent this accusation, Brutus reminds him it was 
not for their advantage, but ' for justice's sake ' that 
they cut down Caesar, ' the foremost man of all 
this world,' and virtuously declares that rather than 
contaminate his fingers with bribes, he would ' be 
a dog, and bay at the moon ! ' 

There is so much truth in his remarks that Cas- 
sius, goaded to anger, bids him cease baiting him, 
and reminds him he is the better soldier. Gradu- 
ally their quarrel grows more bitter, but when Bru- 
tus contemptuously exclaims, ' Shall I be frighted 
when a madman stares ? ' Cassius grudgingly re- 
tracts his former remarks, crying that even Caesar 
would not have dared to move him thus to anger! 
After a few more taunts, Brutus returning to the 
matter in hand, hotly reproaches Cassius for not 
sending him funds to pay his troops, thus showing 
that> although unable to wring money ' from the 
hard hands of peasants ' himself, he is not averse to 
make use of ill-gotten goods. When Cassius de- 
nies having refused such an appeal, Brutus proves so 
incredulous that Cassius calls for Octavius and An- 
tony to end his life, since, having forfeited Brutus' 



Julius Casar 203 

love, he is ' aweary of the world.' His tender 
of his dagger, — so his former friend may plunge it 
into his heart, — finally disarms the anger of Brutus, 
who bids him sheathe it, adding he is ' yoked with a 
lamb,' who, although he shows fire at times, immedi- 
ately cools down again. This quarrel, which threat- 
ened their alliance, ends with a half-proffered apol- 
ogy on the part of both, just as a poet forces his 
way into their presence, to adjure them to cease dis- 
puting. After turning him out ignominiously, the 
generals call for wine to drink to their reconciliation, 
Brutus excusing his recent irritability, under plea 
of grief at his wife Portia's violent death, news 
which appals Cassius. 

Immediately after they have pledged each other, 
Messala and Titinius, Brutus' officers, enter, and 
letters recently received from Rome are canvassed. 
Not aware that Brutus had already heard of Portia's 
death, Messala gently breaks it to him, and admires 
the fortitude he displays. Then all three decide 
that since Octavius and Antony, — after ridding 
themselves of many Romans, including Cicero, — 
are wending their way toward Philippi, it will be 
well to meet them there. This decision is reached 
only after a lively dispute between Brutus and 
Cassius, the former prevailing by an able speech, 
wherein occurs the famous simile, ' there is a tide in 
the affairs of men, which, taken at the flood, leads 
on to fortune.' 

This decision reached, seeing the night already 
far advanced, Cassius withdraws, leaving Brutus to 
call for his slumber robe and bid his attendant sum- 



204 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

mon two soldiers, who are told to sleep in his tent, 
so he can rouse them when he needs them. These 
soldiers comfortably disposed of, Brutus prepares to 
while away part of the night by reading, bidding 
his servant play for him a little while. The lad 
is, however, soon overcome by sleep, so Brutus, 
after removing the instrument to a place of safety, 
lets him enjoy his well-earned rest. While all is 
quiet around him, the light grows dim and Brutus, 
looking up, is confronted by Caesar's ghost! Feel- 
ing his blood run cold and his hair rise on end, 
Brutus commands the apparition to speak, only to 
hear that his evil spirit has come to warn him they 
will meet again at Philippi. Then the ghost dis- 
appears, just as Brutus' loud calls awaken his sleep- 
ing attendants, none of whom has seen or heard 
anything unusual. Having thus roused his men, 
Brutus bids them go and tell Cassius to set out 
early in the morning, leaving him to follow at his 
pleasure. 

Act V. The fifth act opens on the plains of 
Philippi, where Octavius and Antony are encamped, 
and where the former rejoices to think his com- 
panion was mistaken in declaring the foe would not 
meet them in battle. Just as Antony rejoins they 
have done so to give the impression of courage, a 
messenger announces the enemy is drawing near. 
After a brief dispute in regard to the positions they 
are to occupy, Octavius gains his way, just as their 
opponents appear to parley. Unable to restrain 
their wrath, the four principals exchange uncompli- 
mentary remarks, Antony taunting Brutus with 



Julius Ccesar 205 

dealing base strokes, — as the hole his dagger made 
in Caesar's heart bears witness, — and reviling Cassius 
for his share in the murder. Then Octavius vows 
that having drawn his sword against the conspira- 
tors, it shall never be sheathed again ' till Caesar's 
three and thirty wounds be well avenged.' To these 
contemptuous speeches Brutus haughtily rejoins that 
Octavius could die no more honourable death than by 
his sword, ere both parties separate, still hurling 
defiance at each other. 

Octavius and Antony having gone to rejoin their 
forces, Brutus converses apart with his servant, 
while Cassius informs Messala that he regrets hav- 
ing to stake all his chances on the issue of the 
coming battle on his birthday, for bad omens have 
occurred. His conversation with his man finished, 
Brutus rejoins Cassius, who fervently hopes the 
gods will allow them to end their lives in peace 
together. Still, in case they lose, he wishes to know 
what Brutus intends to do? His philosophy teach- 
ing it is cowardly to anticipate death, Brutus replies 
that arming himself ' with patience,' he means ' to 
stay the providence of some high powers that govern 
us below.' But, when Cassius demands whether he 
could stand being led in triumph through the streets 
of Rome, Brutus' philosophy suddenly deserts him, 
for he passionately declares ' he bears too great a 
mind ' to brook such disgrace, and adds that this day 
1 must end that work the ides of March begun.' 
Then, solemn farewells exchanged, these two sepa- 
rate, Brutus exclaiming, ' O, that a man might know 
the end of this day's business ere it come! But it 



206 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

sufficeth that the day will end, and then the end is 
known.' 

The next scene occurs on the battle-field, where 
Brutus is despatching Messala with written orders 
for the legions on the other side to charge and thus 
defeat Octavius. In another part of the field, Cas- 
sius tells Titinius how he has just slain, with his 
own hand, a cowardly ensign who was beating a 
retreat, and how Brutus has lost his temporary ad- 
vantage over the foe by allowing his troops to pillage 
ere victory was assured. The result is that, sur- 
rounded by Antony's forces, Cassius now takes 
refuge upon a neighbouring height, from whence, 
discerning fire near his tents, he bids Titinius ride 
thither in haste and ascertain whether they are in the 
hands of friends or foes. Meantime, another officer, 
Pindarus, directed to report from a higher point all 
he sees, exclaims that Titinius is surrounded by 
troops, whose joyful shouts reach Cassius' ear. Bid- 
ding his man come down, Cassius reviles himself for 
living to see his best friend a prisoner, and then re- 
minds Pindarus how, having taken him captive in 
war, he granted him life on condition of implicit 
obedience. When he, therefore, bids Pindarus slay 
him, this man feels bound to obey, and Cassius dies 
exclaiming, ' Caesar, thou art revenged, even with 
the sword that kill'd thee.' Freed from further 
obligations by this death, Pindarus flees, just as 
Titinius returns with Messala, who joyously an- 
nounces Cassius and Brutus have triumphed. Feel- 
ing sure such tidings will be welcome, they eagerly 
seek for Cassius, and are horrified to discover him 



Julius Casar 207 

weltering in his blood. Sure some misunderstand- 
ing caused this awful catastrophe, Messala hastens 
off to warn Brutus, while Titinius sorrowfully 
decks the corpse with the crown of victory which 
the enthusiastic troops had entrusted to him for 
Cassius. Then, having paid his last respects to his 
master, this faithful officer kills himself with Cas- 
sius' sword. 

Trumpet peals next usher on the scene Brutus 
and Messala, who at first imagine Titinius is mourn- 
ing over his master's body. When they discover, 
however, that he too is dead, Brutus exclaims : ' O 
Julius Csesar, thou art mighty yet! Thy spirit 
walks abroad, and turns our swords in our own 
proper entrails,' ere he marks that Titinius' last act 
was to crown his master. Having no leisure at 
present to pay these corpses a fitting tribute of 
tears, Brutus, after giving orders for the disposal 
of Cassius' body, hastens back to the battle-field, 
where, ere night, he means to ' try fortune in a 
second fight.' 

In another part of the field, where a mad strug- 
gle is raging, Brutus is heard encouraging his 
friends, who are making desperate efforts to die 
since they cannot win. While Cato falls, Brutus 
rushes deeper into the fray, just as his opponents 
seize his faithful servant, who, to enable his master 
to escape, personates him for a few minutes. But, 
when Antony appears and the pious fraud is dis- 
covered, Brutus' man proudly proclaims no enemy 
will ever take his master alive. Bidding his men 
continue their quest, yet closely guard this prisoner 



208 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

whom he would rather have as friend than foe, 
Antony departs. 

Meanwhile, Brutus and his last remaining com- 
panions have retreated to a rocky height, where, 
after counting heads, they bewail their companions' 
loss. Still, death now seems so far preferable to 
life that Brutus tries, in a whisper, to induce his 
companions one after another to slay him. But 
even his old schoolfellow, — to whom he confides 
how Csesar's ghost has twice appeared to him, — 
refuses to hold his sword so he can run upon it. 
A new alarm finally causes these few survivors to 
exchange hasty farewells, Brutus assuring them, 
■ Countrymen, my heart doth joy that yet in all my 
life I found no man but he was true to me,' ere 
they disperse. He and Strato, his last friend, re- 
main on the stage alone, where, unable to refuse 
Brutus' last request, this man, after obtaining his 
pardon, holds his sword while he falls upon it, ex- 
claiming: ' Caesar, now be still: I kill'd not thee 
with half so good a will.' 

A moment later Octavius and Antony enter with 
Messala, who, on perceiving Strato, eagerly en- 
quires for Brutus, only to hear he is ' free from the 
bondage you are in, Messala! ' Then Strato 
proudly adds that ' Brutus only overcame himself, 
and no man else hath honour by his death,' and that 
all the conquerors can do is to burn his body. 
Happy to think his master justified his proud boast, 
Brutus' attendant now consents to serve Octavius, 
as does Strato also, who is praised for rendering the 
last service to his master. Then Antony solemnly 



Julius Casar 209 

pronounces Brutus ' the noblest Roman of them all/ 
adding that ' all the conspirators save only he did 
that they did in envy of great Caesar.' Because 
Brutus acted from patriotic motives only, Antony 
claims he deserved to be held up to the world as 
' a man/ while Octavius orders his remains treated 
with due respect, ere he departs with Antony ' to 
part the glories of this happy day.' 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 

Act I. The first act opens in the palace at 
Alexandria, where two Romans discuss Mark An- 
tony's infatuation for Cleopatra until a flourish of 
trumpets ushers in this couple and their train. 
While one Roman whispers that ' the triple pillar 
of the world ' is transformed : into a strumpet's 
fool,' Cleopatra implores Antony to say how much 
he loves her, until he fervently rejoins ' there's 
beggary in the love that can be reckon'd.' Their 
amorous talk is interrupted by a message from 
Rome, which Cleopatra sarcastically bids Antony 
heed as his wife, Fulvia, may be angry, or ' the 
scarce-bearded Caesar,' may be sending him man- 
dates. Such taunts cause Antony to declare Rome 
is naught and the universe represented solely by 
Cleopatra, whom he embraces. When she inquires 
why he married Fulvia, he proposes that instead of 
wasting the day in vain recriminations they devote 
it to pleasure, and when she urges him to receive 
the messengers, declines to have anything to do with 
Rome. As both leave the hall, the Roman specta- 
tors marvel at Antony's contempt for Caesar, gravely 
admitting that ' sometimes, when he is not Antony, 
he comes too short of that great property which 
still should go with Antony.' 

In another room in the same palace, the queen's 

2IO 



Antony and Cleopatra 211 

women and eunuch are consulting a soothsayer, who 
predicts their fortunes according to the lines on 
their hands. But, when he states the women's end is 
near, and that they will die together after the lady 
they serve, both coquettishly protest against such 
gruesome predictions, amid bantering remarks from 
the eunuch. 

Just then Cleopatra enters demanding her lord, 
who left her abruptly, ' a Roman thought ' having 
evidently struck him. She is just sending for An- 
tony when she sees him draw near, and artfully 
decides not to look at him, but pass him by. With- 
out heeding this, Antony continues to question the 
messenger, who describes how Fulvia and his 
brother, foes at first, joined forces against Caesar. 
He adds that a large part of the lands Antony 
conquered is already lost, and that Rome reviles 
Cleopatra for beguiling him into idleness. Sadly 
admitting that ' when our quick minds lie still,' they 
bring forth weeds, Antony dismisses this messen- 
ger and calls for the next. 

He is muttering ' these strong Egyptian fetters I 
must break, or lose myself in dotage,' when the 
next messenger announces Fulvia's death, and de- 
livers a letter giving further particulars. While he 
passes out, Antony musingly avers * there's a great 
spirit gone ! ' adding that he did not desire this, and 
is more than ever determined to break away ' from 
this enchanting queen,' for he realises his idleness is 
hatching many ills. Calling his officer Enobarbus, 
Antony therefore informs him they must leave, a 
move Enobarbus opines ' will kill all our women.' 



212 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

Seeing Antony does not heed this objection, this 
officer describes how ' Cleopatra, catching but the 
least noise of this, dies instantly'; adding that he 
has seen her die twenty times on lesser provoca- 
tion. When Antony admits she is ' cunning past 
man's thought,' Enobarbus urges the great strength 
of her passions, until Antony exclaims he wishes 
he had never seen her; but his man assures him he 
1 had then left unseen a wonderful piece of work.' 

When he learns Fulvia is dead, Enobarbus 
philosophically rejoins the deities take a man's wife 
from him, only to comfort him with a new love, 
and because Antony remarks the business his wife 
began ' cannot endure his absence,' he suggests 
Cleopatra cannot endure it either. This answer the 
general dismisses as light, stating he will break ' the 
cause of our expedience to the queen,' for now that 
Pompey has ' given the dare to Caesar,' and is mas- 
ter of the seas, Antony foresees that, unless some- 
thing is done immediately, they may yet have to 
reckon with another master of the world. He 
therefore bids Enobarbus announce to the court his 
imminent removal while he arranges for departure. 

In another room Cleopatra enquires of her women 
and eunuch where Antony may be, and bids one of 
them go in quest of him, reporting her dancing in 
case he is sad, but if mirthful to describe her as ill. 
The eunuch having gone, Charmian, the maid, re- 
marks if Cleopatra really loved Antony, she would 
not act thus, whereupon the queen sagely informs 
her that to give way to a man in everything and 
cross him in nothing is the best way to lose him. 



Antony and Cleopatra 213 

A moment later Antony enters to inform the pout- 
ing Cleopatra there is bad news. Although she 
petulantly vows she will not listen, he coaxes until 
she jealously demands ' what says the married 
woman ? ' Antony, therefore, tries to impart to 
her Fulvia's death, but it is only after some time that 
he can sufficiently quiet her suspicions to make her 
understand his wife is gone, Italy a prey to civil 
war, Pompey threatening Rome, and he obliged to 
go there and fight. As Cleopatra refuses to believe 
him, Antony bids her read his letters, whereat she 
petulantly rejoins she now perceives how coldly he 
will welcome the news of her demise! Entreating 
her not to quarrel with him and promising fidelity, 
Antony is about to depart, when Cleopatra threatens 
to faint and thus detains him by her side. Then, 
after having taunted and teased him to the verge 
of endurance, she suddenly melts and confesses she 
loves him, begs his forgiveness for detaining him, 
and finally sends him off with wishes for victory 
and success. This softness overcomes Antony, who 
passionately assures her, ' thou, residing here go'st 
yet with me, and I hence fleeting, here remain with 
thee.' 

We now remove to a house in Rome, where 
Caesar, after reading a letter, informs Lepidus how 
news from Alexandria reports Antony fishing, 
drinking, and revelling with Cleopatra, but paying 
no heed to state affairs. When Lepidus opines 
Antony's faults are hereditary, Octavius considers 
he is too indulgent, for Antony should know better 
than to become Cleopatra's lover, reel through the 



214 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

streets, and buffet with knaves! This dialogue is 
interrupted by a messenger, reporting Pompey strong 
at sea and constantly joined by malcontents, tidings 
which do not surprise Octavius, for he considers 
* this common body, like to a vagabond flag upon the 
stream, goes to and back, lackeying the varying 
tide, to rot itself with motion.' When the messen- 
ger adds that pirates are making inroads into Italy 
which Pompey alone can check, Octavius fervently 
wishes Antony would leave his ' lascivious wassails ' 
and come and fight, for he remembers what hard- 
ships this general formerly endured and the feats he 
performed when merely a dauntless soldier. This 
reminder of Antony's previous prowesses causes 
Lepidus to wail their companion is no longer the 
same, while Octavius exclaims it is time to show 
themselves in the field, since ' Pompey thrives in 
our idleness.' Promising to furnish on the morrow 
a full account of the forces he can muster, Lepidus 
departs, after farewells which show both are deter- 
mined to turn all their energies against the foe. 

In Alexandria Cleopatra implores her maids and 
eunuch to give her a sedative, so she can ' sleep 
out this great gap of time ' during which her An- 
tony is away. When her attendants assure her she 
thinks too much of him, Cleopatra reviles them for 
talking treason, and bids one of her men sing to 
her. Still, she pays no heed to his music, but 
keeps wondering what Antony is doing or saying, 
and whether he is thinking of her and of the ex- 
travagant compliments he once used to lavish on 
his ' serpent of old Nile ' ? While she is thus 




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Antony and Cleopatra 215 

musing, Alexas delivers a jewel and letter from 
Antony, vowing his master kissed them many times 
before forwarding them to her. Because Cleopatra 
eagerly enquires whether Antony was sad or merry, 
he rejoins neither, a mood she interprets most fa- 
vourably, ere she enquires whether Alexas met her 
posts? Although he reports crossing twenty dif- 
ferent messengers, she calls for ink and paper to 
forward another missive, questioning meanwhile 
whether she ever loved Caesar so fervently, and 
threatening to strike Charmian when this maid at- 
tempts to paragon with Caesar her ' man of men ' ! 
When the maid humbly objects she was merely re- 
peating her mistress' words, Cleopatra rejoins she 
was then in her ' salad days,' and ' green in judg- 
ment,' before she again calls for writing materials, 
vowing Antony shall have ' every day . a several 
greeting, or I'll unpeople Egypt.' 

Act II. The second act opens in Pompey's 
house in Messina, just as he enters exclaiming, ' if 
the great gods be just, they shall assist the deeds of 
justest men.' His friends rejoin that, although the 
gods delay they do not deny, ere Pompey admits his 
powers are increasing, and he hopes to triumph, for 
Antony is feasting in Egypt, Caesar alienating his 
followers by his avarice, and Lepidus weakening his 
cause by flattery. When one of his followers rejoins 
that Caesar and Lepidus are in the field with mighty 
forces, Pompey refuses to believe him, for he fancies 
they must be still in Rome, waiting for Antony, 
who, bewitched by Cleopatra, proves oblivious to 
everything else. ■ 



216 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

Just then an officer reports Antony has already 
left Egypt and is hourly expected in Rome; news 
unwelcome to Pompey, who wonders Antony should 
have donned his helmet for ^uch a petty war, and 
should have consented to forsake Cleopatra. When 
one of his followers suggests Caesar and Antony 
cannot remain friends owing to Fulvia's machina- 
tions, Pompey shrewdly opines ' lesser enmities may 
give way to greater,' and that, through fear of him 
and his party, their petty divisions may be healed. 

The next scene is played in the house of Lepidus, 
who cautions Enobarbus to entreat Antony to be 
gentle, an office the confidant haughtily refuses, de- 
claring should Caesar irritate Antony, the latter will 
doubtless ' speak as loud as Mars.' Just as Lepidus 
reminds him this is no time for private quarrels, and 
that ' small to greater matters must give way,' An- 
tony and Caesar enter with friends. The former 
remarks, if they succeed here they can soon pass 
on to Parthia, while the latter refers some question 
to Agrippa. Lepidus now reminds those assem- 
bled that it behooves them to cease debating private 
differences and think only of the public weal. 
All present having taken seats, Antony opens the 
council by remarking his fellow-triumvirs have 
1 taken things ill which are not so.' When Caesar 
retorts it would be strange were he not offended, 
Antony haughtily demands what difference it made 
whether he lingered in Eg3^pt? To this Caesar re- 
joins that, during his absence, his wife and brother 
made war against him, a move Antony never upheld, 
as he declares his letters prove. Assuming he is 



Antony and Cleopatra 217 

trying to patch up excuses, Caesar answers so coldly 
that Antony hotly wishes he, too, had a spirited wife, 
for, owning one-third of the world, he needs such 
a companion. Nevertheless, Caesar insists Antony 
is to blame for all the trouble stirred up by his 
wife, as well as for the riots in Alexandria, and 
taxes him with scorning his letters and gibing at 
him publicly. Imperiously, Antony explains these 
letters came when he had been feasting and was not 
himself, adding that the next day he made due atone- 
ment. But, when Caesar accuses him of having 
broken the article of his oath, Lepidus interferes, 
although Antony insists Caesar speak out since he 
has attacked his honour, which is sacred. Because 
Caesar states Antony denied him the arms and aid 
he requested, Antony exclaims that, fancying his wife 
was making war merely to force him to leave Egypt, 
he naturally refused to budge. This excuse seems 
pertinent to Lepidus and the others, who try to 
reconcile Caesar and Antony by suggesting that they 
wrangle * when they have nothing else to do.' Thus 
admonished, Caesar reluctantly admits he doesn't 
so ' much dislike the matter, but the manner ' of 
Antony's speech, yet is willing to overlook all and 
make friends, a concession which Agrippa tries to 
make binding by suggesting that Octavius' sister be 
given in marriage to Antony. When Caesar bit- 
terly remarks Cleopatra may not admit Antony is a 
widower, the general haughtily returns he is not 
married, but ready to consider Agrippa's proposal. 
In detail, this man now sets forth the advantages 
of such an alliance, his arguments convincing both 



218 Stories of Shakespeare' 's Tragedies 

parties, who agree to the alliance and shake hands 
on the strength of this contract. The third triumvir 
seems equally delighted with this suggestion, and 
when it has been duly settled, all three amicably 
discuss how best to oppose Pompey, whose forces 
have been increasing every day. But because they 
have decided to conclude the marriage before arm- 
ing, Caesar invites Antony to come immediately and 
view his beloved sister. 

Amid a flourish of trumpets the three generals 
march out, while their friends begin to talk of 
Egypt, Enobarbus describing for the benefit of the 
rest the feasting and merriment, and especially the 
beauty of Cleopatra, when she first met Antony on 
the Cydnus River. His enthusiastic description of 
the state barge's silken and perfumed sails, of the 
queen's attire and attendants, accounts for the deep 
impression she produced upon Antony, who not 
only joyfully accepted her invitation to supper, but 
prepared for it as a bridegroom for his wedding. 
When Agrippa admits Cleopatra is ' such a royal 
wench ' that she conquered the great Caesar, Eno- 
barbus adds there is little prospect of his master 
really forsaking her, since ' age cannot wither her, 
nor custom stale her infinite variety: other women 
cloy the appetites they feed: but she makes hungry 
where most she satisfies.' Although convinced of 
all this, Mecaenas concludes that if beauty, wisdom, 
and majesty can make a lasting impression, Oc- 
tavia will soon fetter Antony for good, and all agree 
to sup together ere they separate and leave the 
house. 



Antony and Cleopatra 219 

The next scene occurs in Caesar's dwelling, after 
Antony's first momentous interview with Octavia, 
for he enters walking on one side of her while 
Caesar escorts her on the other. When Antony 
gravely explains to his newly betrothed that ' the 
world and my great office will sometimes divide me 
from your bosom,' she graciously rejoins that dur- , 
ing such times she will pray for his success. Fas- 
cinated by such gentleness, Antony begs her not to 
believe the world's report in regard to him, and 
promises to live squarely hereafter, ere he bids her 
good-night. Caesar and his sister having retired, 
a soothsayer joins Antony, who, remembering hav- 
ing seen him in Egypt, begins talking to him. Not 
only does the soothsayer wish he had never left 
that country, but advises Antony to hasten back 
there, warning him Caesar's fortunes are fated to 
rise highest. This prediction displeases Antony, 
who refuses to listen when the soothsayer warns 
him that in playing with Caesar he will lose the 
game. After dismissing this bird of ill omen, An- 
tony calls for Ventidius, whom he intends to send 
to Parthia, while he returns to Egypt, for although 
he has concluded a marriage with Octavia for 
peace's sake, he owns it is in the East his pleasure 
lies. When Ventidius joins him, therefore, Antony 
bids him start immediately for Parthia, and soon 
leaves with him to complete arrangements. 

Meantime Lepidus bids his friends Mecaenas 
and Agrippa escort him no further, but hasten back 
to their general, who, they rejoin, is taking leave of 
Octavia. They playfully predict they will reach the 



220 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

tryst before Lepidus, who admits such may be the 
case, as he is coming by a roundabout way. 

In Egypt Cleopatra capriciously refuses to listen 
to the singer she summons, or to play billiards with 
her eunuch, with whom she indulges in a dubious 
play of wit. But all at once she proposes to go 
fishing, and her mention of angling reminds Char- 
mian of the day when her mistress had a diver 
fasten salt fish to Antony's hook! This reminder 
pleases Cleopatra, who exclaims she laughed Antony 
out of patience that day, but laughed him into it 
again before night. 

Just then a messenger arrives, from whom she ea- 
gerly demands news. Because he hesitates to answer, 
Cleopatra wails Antony is dead, adding that should 
he confirm her fears he will kill his mistress, but if 
he assure her of the contrary, he may kiss her hand. 
When the messenger gasps Antony is well, Cleo- 
patra effusively rewards him, only to interrupt him 
incredulously when he adds Antony and Caesar 
are friends. Because even this statement concludes 
with a timorous ' but,' Cleopatra waxes so impa- 
tient that he finally blurts out the news of Antony's 
marriage to Octavia! In her rage Cleopatra strikes 
the messenger, although her attendants try to check 
her fury, and hales him up and down by the hair, 
the man meantime feebly protesting the match is not 
his fault. When the jealous queen bids him take 
back his words, he regrets not being able to do so, 
and thus so exasperates her that she is about to slay 
him, when he saves himself by flight. Drawing near 
her mistress, Charmian now implores her to exer- 



Antony and Cleopatra 221 

cise some self-control, and Cleopatra, after raging 
for a while longer, recalls the man, from whom she 
wishes to extract further information. When 
Charmian reports him afraid to appear, Cleopatra 
promises not to hurt him, murmuring her hands 
lacked ' nobility ' in striking a meaner than her- 
self. When the maid reushers in the poor mes- 
senger, therefore, Cleopatra tells him it is an un- 
grateful task to bear bad news, yet makes him repeat 
Antony has married Octavia, although she inter- 
rupts him frequently by exclamations of rage. Dis- 
missing him finally, Cleopatra gives way to a 
paroxysm of fury which Charmian vainly tries to 
soothe, until turning finally to her, Cleopatra en- 
quires whether in praising Antony she did not often 
dispraise Julius Caesar ? When her attendant assures 
her such was the case, she bitterly rejoins she is ' paid 
for't now.' Then, feeling faint, Cleopatra asks to 
be led to her apartment; but ere leaving, charges 
Alexas to make the messenger report Octavia's 
features, her age, the colour of her hair, and her 
inclinations, for the Egyptian queen is madly jealous 
of the person who now receives Antony's attentions. 
The next scene is played near Cape Misenum, 
where Pompey enters with his forces on one side, 
and the triumvirs on the other. Haughtily ad- 
dressing his foes, Pompey declares that having 
exchanged hostages, they can confer before fighting; 
a move Caesar approves, for he remarks they sent 
written statements for Pompey to consider, and that 
unless he tie up ' his discontented sword ' many will 
perish on the field of battle. In return Pompey, al- 



222 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

luding to the conspiracy which drenched the Capitol 
with blood and caused the battle of Philippi, claims 
to be his father's avenger. Although assured that 
Caesar and Antony are not afraid to meet him, 
even at sea where his forces are greatest, Pompey 
taunts them, until Lepidus enquires whether he will 
accept Sicily and Sardinia, rid the sea of pirates, 
send wheat to Rome, and cease to make war against 
the triumvirs? This proposal Pompey says he was 
on the point of accepting when Antony's truculent 
speeches angered him. He is, however, ready to 
make friends, as he proves by shaking hands with 
Caesar, who notices a great change in him, which 
Pompey ascribes to the harsh fortunes he has re- 
cently endured. To cement this alliance feasts are 
suggested, Antony entertaining the rest with the 
famed Egyptian cooking, which it is reported made 
even Julius Caesar grow fat ! 

In the course of the ensuing playful conversation, 
Pompey asks Enobarbus whether Cleopatra really 
was carried to Caesar in a mattress, and after 
genially conversing with the rest, invites them on 
board his galley. All follow him thither, save 
Menas and Enobarbus, who discuss this meeting, 
and wonder that Pompey should conclude such a 
treaty. They also mention the marriage of Antony 
and Octavia, in reference to which Enobarbus 
shrewdly predicts that, ' the band that seems to 
tie their friendship together will be the very strangler 
of their amity,' for he feels certain Antony will ' to 
his Egyptian dish again,' and foresees that Octavia 
will then stir up Caesar's wrath. 



Antony and Cleopatra 223 

Amid music, servants pass to and fro on Pompey's 
galley, commenting on the fact that their generals 
are drinking so freely that they are no longer re- 
sponsible. After a while trumpets usher in the 
generals, Antony gravely stating that in Egypt the 
height of the Nile waters serves to gauge the pros- 
perity which will visit the country at harvest time. 
When Lepidus enquires whether strange serpents 
are bred there from the mud, Antony gives a fan- 
tastic description of the crocodile, to which the 
others listen, while one of Pompey's men draws him 
aside. It is clear Pompey does not approve of this 
man's suggestion, since he indignantly terms him 
mad; still, the man insists if Pompey wishes to be 
master of the world, he need but have the cables 
of his galley cut, and convey these drunken world- 
conquerors out to sea, where, after disposing of 
them, he need fear no rivals! Rejoining this would 
be villainy on his own part, Pompey hints had his 
friend only known how to serve him, he would 
have executed this plan without consulting him. 
This remark so enrages the officer that he goes off, 
muttering he will no longer follow the fortunes of 
a man ' who seeks, and will not take when once 
'tis offered,' a chance he feels he shall never find 
again. Meantime, turning to his companions, 
Pompey proposes healths, until Lepidus, overcome 
by potations, has to be carried off the ship, where- 
upon the servants sarcastically comment that a third 
part of the world is very drunk! 

Meanwhile Pompey enquires whether this ap- 
proaches an Alexandrian feast, only to be told by 



224 Stories of Shakespeare' 's Tragedies 

Antony it is gradually nearing one; so the drinking 
continues, until the music entices the generals to 
dance. After this Caesar prepares to retire, declar- 
ing his tongue is splitting, and as they land, Eno- 
barbus warns both Antony and Caesar to be careful 
lest they fall, while Menas proposes going down 
into the cabin to talk sundry matters over with 
him. 

Act III. The third act opens in a plain in 
Syria, where Ventidius, having avenged Crassus' 
death, returns in triumph with the body of the 
prince of Parthia. Although his followers urge 
him to pursue the fugitives through Media, Ven- 
tidius deputes a lieutenant to finish this work, lest 
Antony wax jealous of his successes. Meantime, he 
proposes to send word of what he has done in An- 
tony's name to Athens, following these tidings in 
person as soon as possible. 

We now witness a scene in Caesar's antechamber, 
where Agrippa asks Enobarbus whether the brothers 
have parted? He learns in return that Pompey 
has gone, and the rest are about departing, Octavia 
weeping because she must leave Rome. Hearing 
Enobarbus profess devotion to Caesar, his master, 
Agrippa returns the compliment by saying he adores 
Mark Antony ; and both conclude Lepidus is only 
the tool of these great men. They have barely de- 
parted together when Caesar, Antony, Lepidus, and 
Octavia come in, Antony begging his host not to 
escort them any further, while Caesar reminds him 
he is bearing away a ' piece of virtue,' which has 
been set betwixt them ' as the cement ' of their love. 



Antony and Cleopatra 225 

When he urges Antony to take good care of his 
wife, the latter begs him not to offend him by mis- 
trust, and takes leave, praying the gods to keep 
Caesar during his absence. While bidding Octavia 
farewell, Caesar notes ' the April's in her eyes,' for 
she weeps at parting from him, while smiling upon 
her new husband. After some whispered words 
Caesar reluctantly lets her go, his followers mean- 
while wondering whether he will weep, and men- 
tioning the tears in Antony's eyes when Julius Caesar 
died, and when Brutus was slain. After embracing 
both sister and brother-in-law, Caesar watches An- 
tony depart with his wife, while trumpets sound the 
farewell note. 

We return to Cleopatra's palace to find her lying 
on a lounge, wondering why the messenger does not 
appear? Her attendants rejoin the man is afraid, 
a fact proved by his timid mode of approach, and 
by his remark that even ' Herod of Jewry dare not 
look upon you but when you are well pleased.' 
Bidding him fear naught, the queen cross-questions 
him about Octavia, rejoicing when he describes her 
as a widow of thirty, with poor complexion and 
undignified gait. Not only does she reward him 
for this information with gold, but bids him pre- 
pare to carry a letter to Rome, complacently inform- 
ing her attendants after he has gone, ' I repent me 
much that I so harried him.' When they flatter- 
ingly remark the man is a judge of beauty since 
he has had the opportunity of seeing her, she* goes off 
in a fine humour to write her letter, saying she 
will question him further later on. 



226 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

The curtain next rises in Athens, where Antony 
informs his wife her brother is not treating him 
properly, and complains so bitterly that Octavia 
sighs it is hard to stand between two men for both 
of whom she is inclined to pray, knowing while 
she entreats heaven to favour one, she is praying 
against the other. To this Antony retorts she will 
have to mediate between them, while he raises an 
army to eclipse her brother's in case of war. Pleased 
to be selected as peacemaker, Octavia prepares to 
set out for Rome, her husband speeding her de- 
parture. 

In another room of the same house, Enobar- 
bus asks Eros what news he has heard? The re- 
port that Caesar and Lepidus have triumphed over 
Pompey causes Enobarbus to predict ' they'll grind 
the one the other,' ere he wonders what has become 
of his master. Eros describes Antony pacing up and 
down the garden, denouncing Lepidus and threat- 
ening those who murdered Pompey. When Eno- 
barbus asks why the vessels are rigged, Eros rejoins 
they are bound for Italy, ere he hastens off to 
join his master. 

The rising curtain reveals Caesar exclaiming An- 
tony has gone back to Egypt, where he and Cleopatra 
have been seen enthroned, with their offspring at 
their feet! Not only has Antony bestowed upon 
Cleopatra all his recent conquests, but has pro- 
claimed his Egyptian son ' king of kings.' These 
tidings shock Agrippa, who vows Antony is get- 
ting too insolent, while Caesar claims the Romans 
can plainly see he is unworthy of respect. He adds, 



Antony and Cleopatra 227 

besides, that they will not credit the accusations 
that he has despoiled Pompey, deposed Lepidus, and 
detained part of Antony's revenues, — charges which 
Agrippa thinks it would be well to answer, al- 
though Caesar asserts he has done so by proving 
Lepidus cruel and by giving Antony Armenia. 
Nevertheless Agrippa and Mecaenas deem Antony 
will not be satisfied, just as Octavia arrives, affec- 
tionately greeting the brother who hails her as 'a 
castaway.' After denying this, she explains she has* 
come hither of her own free will to make peace be- 
tween her husband and brother. Hearing her re- 
mark that Antony granted her leave of absence, 
Caesar sarcastically retorts he was only too ready 
to let her go, and questions whether she knows 
where he is at present. When Octavia innocently 
rejoins ' in Athens,' Caesar grimly informs his ' most 
wronged sister ' that her spouse has gone back to 
Egypt, where he is again subject to Cleopatra's 
wiles, news which Octavia refuses to credit until it 
is confirmed by Mecaenas. 

The next scene occurs near Actium, in Antony's 
camp, where Cleopatra threatens Enobarbus, because 
he pronounces her unfit for war, although she has 
decided to take part in the coming encounter. In 
an aside, Enobarbus comments upon the unwisdom 
of such a decision, and when Cleopatra enquires 
what he is muttering, declares her presence ' needs 
must puzzle ' Antony, who, having been ' traduced 
for levity,' requires all his strength to oppose Caesar. 
He adds it is rumoured in Rome her eunuchs and 
maids are managing this war, an accusation which 



228 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

causes her charitably to hope Rome may sink and 
the tongues of her detractors rot! 

Just then Antony enters with his general Canid- 
ius, discussing the news received and wondering that 
the fight should be so near at hand. When Cleo- 
patra exclaims ' celerity is never more admired than 
by the negligent,' Antony declares it is a fitting 
rebuke, and decides the battle shall be by sea. This 
decision is opposed by Cleopatra and by the general ; 
but Antony insists upon accepting Caesar's challenge, 
although Enobarbus reminds him his vessels are but 
poorly manned. 

While Canidius is vainly trying to make Antony 
change his mind, a messenger reports Caesar's force 
in view. This man, too, implores Antony not to 
trust to rotten vessels, but to settle this quarrel by 
land. Notwithstanding these warnings, Antony 
embarks with Cleopatra and Enobarbus, leaving a 
soldier and the general to conclude sadly, ' our 
leader's led, and we are women's men.' 

In the next scene Caesar reviews his army on a 
plain near Actium, and bids his general Taurus 
keep these forces in reserve until he has triumphed 
at sea, warning him that ' our fortune lies upon this 
jump.' 

In another part of the same plain Antony points 
out to Enobarbus where his squadrons are to be 
stationed, ere he goes off to count the ships of his 
foe. Then forces march to and fro on the scene, 
while a naval battle is being waged, at the end of 
which Enobarbus cries all is over, and Antony's 
fleet of sixty sail in full flight! While he is be- 



Antony and Cleopatra 2ig 

wailing this defeat, the soldier, Scams, joins him 
exclaiming ' we have kiss'd away kingdoms and 
provinces,' and describing how in the midst of the 
fray Cleopatra fled, and how Antony clapped on 
' his sea-wing, and, like a doting mallard,' followed 
her. This soldier avers he ' never saw an action of 
such shame,' just as Canidius enters, declaring if 
Antony had not fled all would now be well. Asked 
in what direction the fleet has gone, he designates 
the Peloponnesus, bitterly adding that he will sur- 
render to Cassar, six kings having already given 
him this example. But Scarus and Enobarbus de- 
cide to follow Antony's fortunes, although ' reason 
sits in the wind against ' them. 

After the battle of Actium, Antony enters Cleo- 
patra's palace, exclaiming the earth is ashamed to 
bear him, and bidding his followers divide his treas- 
ures and join Caesar. When they refuse to desert 
him, he vows he set them a cowardly example for 
which he blushes. In his humiliation he longs to be 
alone, and has just sunk into dejected revery, when 
Cleopatra comes in, supported by her women and 
Eros. These attendants beseech the queen to com- 
fort Antony, who shudders at her sight, and hides 
his face when they urge him to make the first ad- 
vances. Bitterly, Antony recalls the part he played 
at Philippi, where his rival proved an inglorious spec- 
tator, and heaves a regretful sigh; so, seeing he will 
not make any advances, Cleopatra draws near him 
in a suppliant attitude, and when he reproachfully 
states he is trying to ' convey his shame ' out of her 
eyes, entreats his pardon for fleeing. Hearing her 



230 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

stammer she little thought he would follow her, An- 
tony rejoins she knew his heart was to her ' rudder 
tied by the strings,' so it was inevitable she should 
tow him after her. But, because she humbly sues for 
pardon, he finally kisses away her tears, vowing c one 
of them rates all that is won and lost,' and adding 
that he will see what answer his schoolmaster will 
bring from Caesar. This scene closes with his as- 
surance that ' Fortune knows we scorn her most 
when most she offers blows.' 

The next scene is played in camp, where Caesar 
receives Antony's messenger, his lieutenant com- 
menting upon the fact that the defeated general, 
who once had ' superfluous kings ' at his command, 
now has to use humble emissaries. After transmit- 
ting Antony's greeting, the schoolmaster requests 
he may continue to live in Egypt, or retire to 
Athens, while Cleopatra and her children continue 
to reign over Egypt. Although Caesar haughtily 
refuses to treat with Antony, he declares if Cleo- 
patra will drive away or kill ' her all-disgraced 
friend,' ' she shall not sue unheard.' It is as bearer 
of this message that the schoolmaster departs, while 
Caesar enjoins upon Thyreus to go and win Cleo- 
patra away from Antony, noting, besides, how the 
latter ' becomes his flaw, and what thou think'st 
his very action speaks in every power that 
moves.' 

In the palace Cleopatra consults Enobarbus, who 
deems they have no alternative save to ' think, and 
die.' Still, he blames Antony only, considering the 
queen justified by her sex for showing fear. He can- 



Antony and Cleopatra 231 

not conceive, however, how Antony could forfeit 
half the world to follow her, and is discussing this 
knotty point with Cleopatra, when Antony enters 
with the schoolmaster, whose report he can hardly 
credit. When told again the queen will be cour- 
teously treated provided she yield him up, Antony 
grimly bids her send his grizzled head ' to the boy 
Caesar.' Hearing these bitter words, Cleopatra tries 
to pacify him, but he hastens out to challenge Caesar 
' sword against sword,' although Enobarbus feels 
sure the conqueror will not accept, and shrewdly 
adds, ' I see men's judgments are a parcel of their 
fortunes.' 

At that moment an attendant announces a mes- 
senger from Caesar, his abrupt manner proving some 
of Cleopatra's power is already gone. She bewails 
this, while Enobarbus comments that c loyalty well 
held to fools does make our faith mere folly.' 
Still he realises those who follow a fallen lord, 
' conquer him that did his master conquer,' and earn 
' a place i' the story.' Thyreus is now ushered in, 
and craves a private interview with Cleopatra, who 
assures him ' none but friends ' are present. When 
Thyreus objects they may be friends of Antony as 
well, Enobarbus retorts his master needs them just 
as much as Caesar ! Turning to the queen, Thyreus 
explains that, knowing she clung to Antony through 
fear more than love, Caesar is inclined to pity rather 
than blame her. When Cleopatra hypocritically 
concedes she was conquered rather than won, Eno- 
barbus questions this statement beneath his breath, 
and concludes that as his master, like a sinking ship, 



232 Stories of Shakespeare' s Tragedies 

is being deserted, he had better follow the general ex- 
ample. He, therefore, slips out, while Thyreus en- 
quires what reply he is to convey to Caesar, who 
offers to be Cleopatra's ' staff,' provided she will for- 
sake Antony and place herself wholly under his pro- 
tection. After enquiring the messenger's name, the 
subtle Cleopatra bids him report she lays her crown 
at Caesar's feet, and awaits the doom of Egypt ' from 
his all-obeying breath.' Pleased to bear so satis- 
factory a message, Thyreus begs permission to kiss 
her hand, a favour she grants with the remark 
that ' your Caesar's father oft . . . bestow'd his 
lips on that unworthy place, as it rain'd kisses.' 

Even while Thyreus is receiving this token of 
favour Antony appears, and driven mad by jealousy, 
orders the ambassador whipped. Then, while the 
culprit is hurried off to his doom, he reviles Cleo- 
patra, angrily mentioning all the lovers she had be- 
fore him, and accusing her of trying to win every 
man she sees. He is still raging when the chastened 
Thyreus is brought back by his order, and told to 
return to Caesar bearing Antony's challenge. After 
he has gone, Cleopatra cleverly soothes her irate 
lover, and so restores his confidence in himself that 
he proposes to celebrate her birthday by another 
' gaudy night.' After that he will go forth to fight, 
and swears: 'I'll make death love me; for I will 
contend even with his pestilent scythe.' As Antony 
and Cleopatra leave the room, Enobarbus sagely 
comments, ' when valour preys on reason, it eats 
the sword it fights with,' and feels more than ever 
inclined to desert so rash a master. 



Antony and Cleopatra 233 

Act IV. The fourth act opens in the Roman 
camp, where Caesar, after reading Antony's chal- 
lenge, contemptuously bids his friends ' let the old 
ruffian know I have many other ways to die.' Then, 
after deciding he will on the morrow fight ' the last 
of many battles,' he gives orders that his army be 
feasted. Meantime, on receiving Caesar's refusal 
to meet him in single encounter, Antony boasts 
• by sea and land I'll fight: or I will live, or bathe 
my dying honour in the blood shall make it live 
again.' This settled he, too, orders a feast, and, to 
Cleopatra's surprise, shakes hands with all his serv- 
ants, thanking them for having served him faith- 
fully. Then he bids them wait upon him once more, 
assuring them their services won't be required any 
longer, and seeing tears in their eyes, tries to cheer 
them by saying, ' I hope well of to-morrow ; and 
will lead you where rather I'll expect victorious life 
than death and honour.' 

While the revelry of Antony's ' gaudy night ' is 
at its height, the soldiers on guard without the 
palace exchange remarks, commenting upon the com- 
ing battle, and strange noises heard in the streets. 
Suddenly their attention is attracted by mysterious 
music in the air, which gradually seems to pass out 
of the city, whence they superstitiously conclude 
the god Hercules is forsaking Antony and going 
over to the enemy. 

At dawn, Antony calls for his armour, although 
Cleopatra tries to beguile him to rest a little longer. 
When Eros produces the weapons, Cleopatra insists 
upon helping her lover don his armour, thereby 



234 Stories of Shakespeare* s Tragedies 

winning his praise and the gallant assurance that ' he 
that unbuckles this, till we do please to darf't for 
our repose, shall hear a storm.' He is wishing 
Cleopatra could see him fight, proudly assuring her 
she would see ' a workman in't,' when soldiers enter, 
whom he jovially greets; then, kissing Cleopatra 
good-bye he leaves her, ' a man of steel,' bidding all 
who wish to fight follow him closely. 

After he has gone, Cleopatra is tenderly led back 
to her chamber by Charmian, murmuring Antony 
has departed gallantly, and that she wishes * he 
and Caesar might determine this great war in single 
fight!' 

Arriving at camp, Antony is greeted by good 
wishes from the soldier who, at Actium, tried to 
make him stake his fortunes on a land battle rather 
than trust to rotten ships. Since then the soldier 
has noted many desertions, reporting as the latest 
the departure of Enobarbus, who has just gone over 
to Caesar's camp. Hearing this man left his treas- 
ures behind him, Antony generously orders them 
sent after him, with a letter containing ' gentle 
adieus and greetings,' together with the hope he will 
' never find more cause to change a master.' Then 
he groans to himself that his ' fortunes have cor- 
rupted honest men ! ' 

Meantime, in Caesar's camp preparations are be- 
ing made for the coming battle, where Antony is to 
be taken alive, if possible, and where Caesar predicts 
* the time of universal peace is near. Prove this a 
prosperous day, the three-nook'd world shall bear 
the olive freely.' 



Antony and Cleopatra 235 

Just then a messenger reports Antony is in the 
field, so Caesar orders those who have deserted him 
to fight first. While he hurries out to see his 
orders executed, Enobarbus remarks that Alexas, 
who deserted Antony, has been hanged, that none of 
the deserters enjoy ' honourable trust,' and concludes 
he did ill to forsake his master and can 'joy no 
more.' While he is talking to himself a soldier in- 
forms him Antony has sent his treasures, but when 
Enobarbus bids him take them all, the soldier, deem- 
ing he is joking, enjoins upon him to see the mes- 
senger safely out of camp, adding admiringly, ' your 
emperor continues still a Jove.' Pierced to the quick 
by Antony's generosity, Enobarbus declares it has 
so broken his heart, that he will seek ' some ditch 
wherein to die; the foul'st best fits my latter part 
of life.' 

On the battle-field between both camps Agrippa 
retreats with his forces, exclaiming their ' oppression 
exceeds what we expected.' He is closely followed 
by Antony and Scarus; and the latter, although 
wounded, enthusiastically exclaims that had they 
fought thus before, they would surely have con- 
quered. When Antony urges him to go and have 
his wounds dressed, Scarus jocosely rejoins there is 
room on his person for many more gashes. They 
are still talking when Eros appears to report they 
are triumphing, news which puts new ardour into 
both Antony and Scarus. 

Beneath the walls of Alexandria Antony arrives 
in triumph, having beaten the foe back to their 
tents, and decided to postpone the rest of the victory 



236 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

until the morrow. He is shaking hands with Scams 
when Cleopatra appears, whom he rapturously 
clasps to his heart, bidding her ' ride on the pants 
triumphing! ' When she exults that he has come 
1 smiling, from the great world's snare uncaught,' 
he dubs her his nightingale, and relates the day's 
feats, bidding her allow brave Scarus to kiss her 
hand. Not only does Cleopatra grant this favour, 
but she promises the man a golden armour, ere An- 
tony leads her off to the city, where music heralds 
their triumphant return. 

Night has come, and sentinels in Caesar's camp 
watch the stars, discussing the coming battle, and 
declaring the one just waged proved very unkind to 
their party. While they are talking, Enobarbus 
strolls on the scene, talking to himself, and his ac- 
tions seem so suspicious that the sentinels hide to 
watch him, commenting softly on all he says and 
does. They thus overhear him confess to the moon 
how sorely he repents his treachery, and wail that 
the world will register him as ' master-leaver,' His 
grief is so heartrending that the sentinels are about 
to address him, when he falls in what they take for 
a swoon. But, when they emerge from their hid- 
ing place and try to revive him, they discover he is 
lifeless, and bear away his corpse. 

Between the two camps Antony and Scarus ap- 
pear, the former exclaiming Caesar is about to try 
his fortunes by sea. Undismayed, he calmly awaits 
the result of this battle, which he has come to 
watch from a neighbouring height. Meantime, in 
another part of the field, Caesar informs his army 



Antony and Cleopatra 237 

that as all Antony's best forces man the ships, he 
proposes to attack him by land. 

Unable to see as much as he wishes from the 
point he has chosen, Antony climbs higher still, while 
Scarus comments that ' swallows have built in Cleo- 
patra's sails their nests,' that the augurs refuse to 
speak, and that Antony's spirits are so fluctuating 
that the result of the day seems very doubtful. 
Great noise of a battle at sea is heard, and before 
long Antony rushes in exclaiming all is lost, since the 
Egyptian fleet has surrendered! In his wrath he 
curses Cleopatra, bids his men save themselves, and 
declares that ' when I am revenged upon my charm, 
I have done all.' Scarus, having hastened off to 
warn the army of the fleet's defeat, Antony bids 
farewell to the sun, whose rising he never expects to 
see again, bitterly adding that the people who once 
fawned upon him will now pay court to Caesar. 
He realises he has been beguiled into this war by 
' this false soul of Egypt,' and is just calling for 
Eros when Cleopatra enters. Recoiling from her in 
horror, Antony bids her not approach lest he mar 
her beauty, and thus detract from Caesar's triumph! 
His allusions to her progress through Rome behind 
the conqueror's chariot, where patient Octavia will 
plough her visage l with her prepared nails,' so 
horrify Cleopatra, that she flees in dismay, while 
Antony compares himself to the tortured and dying 
Hercules. Still he is determined Cleopatra shall 
perish, too, for having betrayed him, and loudly 
calls for Eros to execute his revenge. 

Having fled from Antony's enraged presence to 



238 Stories of Shakespeare* s Tragedies 

her own apartment, Cleopatra hysterically sobs he 
is mad; then eagerly adopts Charmian's suggestion 
that she take refuge in the monument, where she can 
guard against every attack, since ' the soul and 
body rive not more in parting than greatness going 
off.' She, therefore, bids her eunuch report to An- 
tony she died breathing his name, and send word 
after her how this news is received. 

Meantime, Antony asks Eros whether he was 
ever mocked by mirage, and vows he does not at 
present behold Antony the conqueror, but one whom 
Cleopatra has betrayed. His man is weeping over 
his sorrows when the eunuch enters, to inform 
Antony his mistress has just expired with his name 
on her lips! These tidings are received with un- 
canny calmness by Antony, who, after dismissing 
the eunuch, bids Eros unarm him, for ' the long 
day's task is done, and we must sleep.' While his 
man removes the battered gear Antony never ex- 
pects to don again, he mutters he will soon over- 
take Cleopatra and sue her pardon for having mis- 
judged her. Then, left alone, he ardently pictures 
their entrance, hand in hand, to the land of shades, 
' where souls do couch on flowers,' and where they'll 
enter ' hand in hand, and with our sprightly port ' 
will ' make the ghosts gaze.' 

Summoning Eros, who has carried away his dis- 
carded weapons, Antony next states it is a disgrace 
to live since Cleopatra has gone, and reminds his 
man of the promise once given to slay his master 
when the latter bade him do so. Seeing Eros 
shrink from this task, Antony fiercely demands 



Antony and Cleopatra 239 

whether he wishes to see him grace Caesar's triumph, 
and urges him to keep his oath. At first, all An- 
tony's eloquence proves vain, but finally Eros gasps 
he may gain courage to do it if his master will only 
assure him of his forgiveness, bid him farewell, and 
turn aside his noble countenance. But, when all this 
has been done, Eros stabs nimself, exclaiming ' thus 
do I escape the sorrow of Antony's death.' Pro- 
nouncing his man i thrice-nobler ' than himself, and 
vowing Eros and Cleopatra have set him such an 
example that it behooves him to act as a bridegroom 
and run to his death ' as to a lover's bed,' Antony 
falls upon his sword, inflicting so painful a wound 
that he groans for his guards to despatch him. These 
men, rushing in, refuse this humane office; but one 
of them, picking up Antony's bloody sword, darts 
oflE with it to Caesar. Meantime, pleading for 
death, Antony addresses a newcomer, whose remark 
that Cleopatra sent him, reveals she is not dead as 
was supposed. On discovering his charmer has 
taken refuge with her treasures in the monument,, 
Antony, anxious to die in her presence, implores 
the guards to carry him thither; so, although fear- 
ing he may expire on the way, they gently raise and 
bear away the general who so often led them on 
to victory. 

In the interior of the monument, Cleopatra moans 
she will ' never go from hence,' and insists, in spite 
of all proffered consolations that ' our size of sor- 
row, proportion'd to our cause, must be as great as 
that which makes it.' While she is moralising thus, 
a messenger bids her look out and see the dying An- 



240 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

tony brought to her by his guards. A moment later 
Antony appears upon the scene, and perceiving his 
plight Cleopatra's heart melts. To reassure her, 
* Antony himself exclaims, ' Peace ! not Caesar's 
valour hath o'erthrown Antony, but Antony's hath 
triumph'd on itself,' a state of affairs she deems 
fitting though passing sad. When Antony adds he 
is dying fast, and wishes to exhale his last breath 
in a kiss, she refuses to come down lest she fall into 
Caesar's hands. But she and her maids laboriously 
draw him up into the monument, where she strains 
him to her heart. Collecting his last strength, An- 
tony then warns beloved ' Egypt,' as he calls her, not 
to trust any of Caesar's followers save Proculeius, 
and bids her remember him only as he was in his 
prime, rejoicing that he dies ■ a Roman by a Roman 
valiantly vanquish'd.' Then, as his eyes close in 
death, Cleopatra wails ' the crown of the earth doth 
melt,' and that ' there is nothing left remarkable be- 
neath the visiting moon.' In the midst of her lament 
she sinks into a swoon, so that her maids fancy she is 
dead, too; but, after a while, Cleopatra comes to 
life again, only to bewail her lot, and question 
whether ' it is sin to rush into the secret house of 
death, ere death dare come to us?' Then, perceiv- 
ing her women's grief, Cleopatra rouses herself suf- 
ficiently to say they will bury Antony, ' and then, 
what's brave, what's noble, let's do it after the high 
Roman fashion, and make death proud to take us.' 
Act V. The fifth act opens in Caesar's camp 
just as he is directing an officer to go and demand 
Antony's surrender. This man has barely departed 



Antony and Cleopatra 241 

when a guard bursts in, accounting for his un- 
mannerly intrusion by gasping Antony was his mas- 
ter while he lived. When he reveals Antony's sui- 
cide, Caesar, at first, can scarcely credit it, although 
he eloquently praises the man whose faults he depre- 
cates while lauding his great deeds, and concludes 
his panegyric with the statement that they ' could 
not stall together in the whole world,' because their 
stars were unreconcilable. 

The arrival of a messenger from Cleopatra, asking 
his intentions, so she ' preparedly may frame her- 
self to the way she's forced to,' interrupts this 
scene. Bidding the man rejoin that Cleopatra may 
be of good heart ' for Caesar cannot live to be un- 
gentle,' he dismisses this messenger, sending Procu- 
leius after him to comfort the queen, ' lest, in her 
greatness, by some mortal stroke she do defeat us; 
for her life in Rome would be eternal in our tri- 
umph.' Then Caesar invites the rest to his tent, 
where he offers to prove to them ' how hardly ' he 
was drawn into this war, and how calmly and gently 
he proceeded in all his writings. 

In the interior of the monument Cleopatra is 
musing how even a Caesar is only ' Fortune's knave,' 
when Proculeius delivers the conqueror's greetings 
and request that she ' study on what fair demands ' 
she wishes him to grant her. Ascertaining that this 
is the very man Antony bade her trust, Cleopatra 
rejoins that when a queen turns beggar she can sue 
only for a kingdom, and that hence she entreats her 
son may have Egypt, promising all gratitude in re- 
turn. All Proculeius can rejoin is the assurance she 



242 Stories of Shakespeare' f s Tragedies 

has fallen ' into a princely hand,' together with a 
promise to convey her request to see Caesar face 
to face. 

The hollowness of this exchange of courtesies is 
proved by the fact that, having forced their way 
into the monument as ambassadors, the Romans now 
treacherously take possession of it, and make Cleo- 
patra their prisoner, deftly disarming her when she 
draws a dagger to slay herself. Then they sternly 
warn her not to abuse their master's bounty by 
undoing of herself, whereupon she calls for death, 
vehemently declaring she will neither eat nor drink 
if she cannot save herself otherwise from being 
stared at in Rome. To pacify her, Proculeius as- 
sures her ' you do extend these thoughts of horror 
further than you shall find cause in Caesar.' Then, 
summoned to his master, he entrusts her keeping to 
his comrade Dolabella, and departs, promising to do 
his best for the captive queen. 

When he has gone, Dolabella vainly tries to 
rouse Cleopatra, who finally gasps she dreamt there 
was a man called Antony, whose ' legs bestrid the 
ocean,' and whose ' voice was propertied as all the 
tuned spheres.' It is only when her enthusiastic 
description of Antony is finished, that she becomes 
conscious of Dolabella, from whom she wrings the 
admission that she is, indeed, destined to figure in 
Caesar's triumph. 

Just then trumpets proclaim the arrival of Caesar, 
before whom Cleopatra sinks on her knees as a 
suppliant, only to be told to rise since her injuries 
are forgotten, and assured if she prove amenable to 



Antony and Cleopatra 243 

reason she will find ' a benefit in this change.' 
Caesar adds the stern warning, however, that if 
she resorts to ' Antony's course ' she will jeopardise 
her children's future. Hearing this, Cleopatra 
humbly proffers the inventory of her treasures, as- 
suring Caesar she reserves naught, as her treasurer 
can bear witness. But, instead of confirming these 
words, her treasurer reveals she has reserved more 
than half her fortune for her own use, a thrift 
Caesar admires, while Cleopatra hotly reviles the 
man for betraying her. Hoping to give a favour- 
able colour to this unexpected revelation, Cleopatra 
next pretends she reserved these things as propitiatory 
gifts for Caesar's wife and sister, and after dismiss- 
ing her treasurer philosophically remarks, ' Be it 
known, that we, the greatest, are misthought for 
things that others do; and, when we fall, we an- 
swer others' merits in our name, are therefore to be 
pitied.' 

After assuring her she can retain her treasures, 
and that he will do nothing without consulting her, 
Caesar leaves, while Cleopatra watches him depart, 
murmuring he is trying to prevent her from being 
' noble ' to herself. Then she whispers a few words 
in Charmian's ear, whence Iras gloomily concludes 
1 the bright day is done, and we are for the dark.' 
Just then Dolabella reenters and curtly informs 
the captive queen that Caesar is about to leave for 
Syria, where she and her children are ordered to 
precede him. 

Grateful for this warning, Cleopatra watches 
Dolabella retire, and then asks Iras how they could 



244 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

endure to be exposed to the stares of the vulgar in 
Rome, where their Alexandrian revels will be staged, 
and ' some squeaking Cleopatra ' will ' boy my 
greatness.' Rather than undergo such humiliation, 
Iras is ready to scratch out her own eyes; a way 
to ' fool their preparation ' that Cleopatra approves. 
But, when Charmian reenters, she surprises both 
maids by bidding them attire her as when she met 
Antony on the Cydnus, assuring them that, that 
duty fulfilled, she will give them ' leave to play till 
doomsday.' 

While the women are preparing this elaborate 
toilet, a guard reports that ' a rural fellow ' insists 
upon being admitted, so Cleopatra bids him usher the 
man in, whispering ' he brings me liberty. My reso- 
lution's placed, and I have nothing of woman in 
me: now from head to foot I am marble-constant.' 
As this soliloquy ends, the peasant enters, and when 
sure the guard cannot overhear them, Cleopatra 
eagerly enquires, ' Hast thou the pretty worm of 
Nilus there, that kills and pains not ? ' She seems 
gratified when she learns the basket contains figs 
and deadly asps, whose bite the man volubly assures 
her is mortal. Bidding him set the basket down, 
Cleopatra dismisses him, so he reluctantly leaves, 
wishing her ' all joy of the worm.' After he has 
gone, the women bring in Cleopatra's regal attire, 
wherein she urges them to hurry and array her, for 
Antony is calling her, and will surely praise her 
noble act. When duly decked out, Cleopatra kisses 
both maids farewell and as her lips touch Iras, the 
girl, overcome by her emotions, falls dead, while 



Antony and Cleopatra 245 

her mistress dully wonders whether she can have the 
aspic in her lips? 

While Charmian weeps, Cleopatra reiterates she 
must hurry or Iras will be first to meet Antony, 
who will ' make demand of her, and spend that kiss 
which is my heaven to have.' Saying this, Cleo- 
patra takes an asp from the basket and applies it 
to her breast, exclaiming, 'with thy sharp teeth this 
knot intrinsicate of life at once untie.' Because 
Charmian laments at the sight, Cleopatra murmurs 
it is her babe feeding at her breast, and rouses her- 
self from her lethargy, only to apply a second asp 
to her arm, such is her eagerness to rejoin Antony. 
She has just breathed her last, and Charmian is 
tenderly adjusting her crown and robes, when guards 
rush in. Muttering Caesar has sent too slow a mes- 
senger, Charmian deftly applies an asp to her own 
arm, just as the guards become aware there is some- 
thing strange in the queen's attitude. While some 
loudly call for Dolabella, one reproachfully asks 
Charmian whether this is well, whereat she tri- 
umphantly rejoins ' It is well done, and fitting for a 
princess descended of so many royal kings,' ere she, 
too, sinks down lifeless. 

When Dolabella enters, therefore, he finds three 
corpses, and exclaims Caesar himself is coming only 
to ' see perform'd the dreaded act ' which he sought 
to hinder. These words are scarcely uttered when 
Caesar marches in, only to be greeted by the remark, 
' O sir, you are too sure an augurer, that you did 
fear is done.' Exclaiming ' bravest at the last, she 
levell'd at our purposes, and being royal, took her 



246 Stories of Shakespeare' s Tragedies 

own way,' Caesar bends over the bodies to investi- 
gate the mode of death employed; while Dolabella 
questions the guards and hears of the rustic's visit. 
The basket of figs is still in evidence, while the 
guard describes how Charmian was alive when he 
came in, and how suddenly she died. Sure if they 
had taken poison their beauty would be marred, 
— whereas now Cleopatra ' looks like sleep, as she 
would catch another Antony in her strong toil of 
grace,' — Caesar continues to search. Just then Dola- 
bella discovers a slight puncture on the queen's arm 
and breast, and one of the guards perceives the slimy 
trail of an asp on the fig leaves. The mystery be- 
ing thus solved, Caesar explains he has just learned 
from Cleopatra's physician, that his mistress ' pur- 
sued conclusions infinite of easy ways to die.' After 
ordering her body removed, and decreeing ' she shall 
be buried by her Antony: no grave upon earth shall 
clip in it a pair so famous,' Caesar adds that after 
the funeral he will return to Rome, but bids Dola- 
bella ' see high order in this great solemnity.' 



TITUS ANDRONICUS * 

Act I. The rising curtain reveals a square in 
Rome, — from whence the Capitol and the tomb of 
the Andronici are visible, — just as the two sons of 
the late emperor, Saturninus and Bassianus, appear 
with their followers, each urging his claim to the 
imperial crown, and bespeaking the people's votes. 

Their speeches are barely finished when Marcus 
Andronicus appears above, holding the disputed 
crown, and saying the people wish to elect his 
brother Titus in reward for his successful ten years' 
struggle against the Goths. In this war Titus has 
lost many brave sons, some of whose remains he is 
again bringing home. 

Although this speech is answered by an ironical 
remark from Saturninus, Bassianus, who is in love 
with Lavinia, Titus' daughter, openly declares his 
willingness to abandon his claims and abide by the 
people's choice, ere he departs. Turning to his 
partisans, Saturninus now dismisses them also, an- 
nouncing he will follow his brother's example, 
trusting Rome will prove gracious to him in the end. 

Both imperial candidates having gone, a captain 
enters, proclaiming the arrival of Titus, whose titles 

1 This tragedy and those which follow are seldom, 
if ever played. Besides, many critics claim that only 
parts of them can be attributed to the master-poet. 

247 



248 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

to glory he enumerates in a loud tone. After his 
peroration and some trumpet blasts, the victors, of 
the Gothic campaign enter with their prisoners, 
bearing spoils and a coffin containing the remains of 
the general's brave sons. The centre of attraction 
is, however, Titus himself, who pauses at the family 
tomb to address his native city and countrymen, 
saying that, although he returns weighed down with 
laurels, he grieves to think that of his five-and- 
twenty stalwart sons only four now remain, the 
rest having all fallen in the Gothic campaign ! Four 
times already his ancestral tomb has opened to re- 
ceive his offspring, and he now intends to consign 
to its keeping the latest victims. 

While this is being done, Lucius, his eldest liv- 
ing son, steps forward to demand in the name of 
his brothers that the most exalted among the Gothic 
prisoners be sacrificed to appease the manes of the 
dead. In reply to this request, Titus grants him the 
eldest son of Tamora, Queen of the Goths, one of 
the prisoners in his train. On hearing this decree, 
Tamora frantically begs for her son's life, pleading 
it is enough to have lost her crown, to see her people 
conquered, and to be a captive, without also losing 
her first-born. But, although she implores Titus to 
show mercy, he calmly informs her she will have to 
submit to the sacrifice demanded, and allows the 
victim to be hurried away by his four sons, who 
fiercely vow that they will hew him limb from limb ! 

While the Gothic queen and one of her remaining 
sons are exclaiming in horror over this cruelty, an- 
other prince assures them his brother will soon be 



Titus Andronicus 249 

free from earthly ills, but hopes the time will come 
when it will be in their power to avenge his death. 
Just then Titus' sons return with bloody swords, 
announcing that, the victim having been sacrificed, 
it only remains to place the dead in their tomb. At 
Titus' signal, trumpets resound, and after he has 
pronounced the usual funeral oration, the coffin 
is placed in the vault. Then Lavinia, who wel- 
comes the living with tears of joy, strews flowers 
on the dead, her evident affection deeply touching 
Titus, who hopes this daughter may live to con- 
sole his old age. 

A moment later Marcus Andronicus also greets 
his victorious brother and nephews, hailing living 
and dead as heroes, and offering Titus the imperial 
candidacy in the people's name. Such honours 
gratify Titus, who replies, however, that having 
been a soldier for forty years and buried twenty-one 
valiant sons, he has done enough for Rome without 
assuming the task of governing it. Instead, he urges 
all present to support the claims of Saturninus, 
thus checking the quarrel which threatens to break 
out between the opposing political factions. His 
rough eloquence wins the day, and when he bids all 
those who would fain vote for him transfer their 
allegiance to Saturninus, whom he hails emperor, he 
carries their votes. Amid deafening trumpet-peals, 
Saturninus therefore becomes emperor of Rome. 

Realising his elevation is due to Titus, Saturninus 
thanks him, and proposes to make Lavinia his em- 
press, — an honour Titus so appreciates that he then 
and there dedicates his sword, his prisoners, and all 



250 Stories of Shakespeare* s Tragedies 

he owns to the service of his new sovereign ! Turn- 
ing to the Gothic queen, Titus next informs her 
that she is now prisoner of an emperor, who will 
treat her with due consideration; a promise which 
Saturninus immediately echoes, for he falls in love 
with her at first sight. After courteously begging 
Lavinia's permission to set this august prisoner free 
without ransom, he entirely forgets the presence of 
his betrothed and begins to court Tamora with 
glances, although not in words. 

Seizing this first opportunity to speak, Bassianus 
cries that Lavinia already belongs to him, a claim 
Titus denies, but which his brother and sons up- 
hold, because it is consistent with Roman law. 
Seeing them lead Lavinia away, Titus not only 
protests, but drawing his sword, slays one of his 
sons, who is covering his sister's retreat. Under 
the pretext that their lives are in danger, Saturninus 
now leads Tamora away, only to reappear by her 
side in the Capitol, out of reach of harm. 

One of Titus' sons now reproaches his father 
for his fury, vowing that Lavinia shall never marry 
the emperor, whereupon Saturninus, overhearing this 
speech, gladly seizes this pretext to be rid of an un- 
welcome bride. He, therefore, insultingly informs 
Titus that he has no further need of him or of the 
daughter he is trying to palm off upon him, a sudden 
change of manner which seems incomprehensible to 
Titus. He is further amazed to hear the emperor 
add that, instead, he is going to marry Tamora, who 
accepts his suit. Then Saturninus invites all present 
to his marriage, and when all have gone, Titus 




Thos Kirk 



THE BOY'S TERROR 



Young Luc. " Help, grandsire, help ! my aunt Lavinia 

Follows me everywhere I know not why : — 
Good uncle Marcus, see how swift she comes. — 
Alas, sweet aunt, I know not what you mearii" 

Titus Andronxus, Act 4, Scene 1, 



Titus Jndronicus 251 

marvels to find himself deserted and publicly dis- 
graced ! 

He is soon joined by his brother and three sur- 
viving sons, who reproach him for killing the 
fourth, thus partly rousing him at last from his 
abstraction. But, when they propose to put the 
youth just slain into the same tomb as his brothers, 
Titus angrily refuses to allow a brawler to rest be- 
side heroes. After some vain argument, his sons and 
brother kneel before him to obtain this boon, which 
he reluctantly grants. The tomb is, therefore, re- 
opened to receive another inmate, and the funeral 
rites over, Marcus enquires how the captive Queen 
of the Goths so suddenly became empress of Rome? 
Although at a loss to account for her elevation, 
Titus assures them that Tamora, whom he claims 
he has always treated with special consideration, will 
remember all she owes him. 

Two wedding processions now appear from oppo- 
site ends of the stage, that of the imperial couple 
crossing the pathway of Bassianus and Lavinia, who 
have also just been united. Unable to restrain his 
anger, Saturninus reviles his brother as a kidnapper, 
an accusation which Bassianus denies, testifying that 
Titus is misjudged, and that he actually slew one of 
his sons in a vain attempt to defend the emperor's 
rights. 

But, although Bassianus pleads, Titus humbly 
begs to be restored to favour, and Tamora seems to 
intercede in his behalf, Saturninus does not yield 
until his bride bids him, in a whisper, to dissemble 
and not further anger the patricians and people, who 



252 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

are already accusing him of ingratitude, a heinous 
sin in the eyes of the Romans! She adds the com- 
forting, secret assurance that she will aid him to find 
the right moment to slay Titus and his sons, whom 
she hates since they sacrificed her eldest offspring. 
Yielding to her intercession, therefore, Saturninus 
forgives Titus, who gratefully thanks the imperial 
couple, and begs that his family and Bassianus may 
be included in the imperial pardon. This, too, be- 
ing granted at Tamora's intercession, all present 
are invited to attend the nuptial feast at the palace 
that day, and a hunting party in Titus' forest on 
the morrow. 

Act II. The second act opens before the palace 
in Rome, where Aaron, Tamora's Moorish lover, 
comments upon her elevation to a power she has 
coveted, so as to avenge her son's death and her own 
captivity. Sure that the queen loves him only and 
feels no affection for her imperial spouse, he deter- 
mines, while humbly attending her, to maintain his 
position and privileges by helping her to wreck the 
emperor and the Roman commonwealth. 

Sounds of a quarrel interrupt his meditations, 
making him aware that Tamora's sons are disput- 
ing about Lavinia, both having fallen in love with 
her, and being determined to possess her. From 
taunts, these undisciplined Gothic princes soon come 
to blows, only to be separated by Aaron, who sternly 
warns them such conduct will shame their mother. 
At first, the youths refuse to listen to his arguments, 
vowing they are ready to brave all to win Lavinia, 
who, being but a woman, can be wooed and won, 



Titus Andronicus 253 

although she is already the wife of Bassianus. Lov- 
ing the empress, a married woman, Aaron sees no 
objection to Lavinia having lovers, too; so, over- 
hearing one of the young princes state that many a 
deer has been stricken down and carried off under 
the keeper's nose, he suggests that during the com- 
ing hunt, Lavinia be decoyed to a spot in the forest, 
where she can become their victim in turn, evil 
advice eagerly accepted by the vicious princes, who 
propose to carry it out with their mother's aid. 

The scene is now transferred to a forest near 
Rome where hunting horns herald the arrival of 
Titus Andronicus, his brother, and sons. All exult 
in the fine weather, ere they welcome the approach- 
ing emperor and his train. But, although the im- 
perial couple deem they have been roused too early, 
Lavinia claims to have been awake for some time; 
and, while Titus and Marcus boast of their horses 
and dogs, Tamora's sons, lurking in the background, 
gloat upon the charming quarry they propose to run 
down. 

In a remote part of the same forest, Aaron is 
next seen hastily burying a bag of gold under a 
tree, while muttering that this is part of their strata- 
gem. As he finishes his task, Tamora joins him, 
inviting him to enjoy a brief interlude of love with 
her; but Aaron replies that his heart, instead of 
being attuned to love, is bent on revenge. So, after 
designating a letter she is to pick up and give the 
emperor, he informs her how her sons, having exe- 
cuted their vile plans, intend to cut out Lavinia's 
tongue, so she can never betray them. They also 



254 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

plan to slay Bassianus, and to contrive by means of 
the buried gold and forged letter to cast all blame 
upon innocent victims. 

A moment later, while still clasped in each other's 
arms, the guilty pair are surprised by Bassianus and 
Lavinia, who reproach the empress for deceiving her 
new-made husband, whose eyes they threaten to 
open. It is while this dispute is still raging that 
Tamora's sons join her, and when she exclaims that 
Lavinia and Bassianus have lured her to this lonely 
place to murder her, they promptly draw their 
daggers and slay Bassianus! But, although Tamora 
seems eager to kill Lavinia with her own hand, both 
youths soon compel her to abandon her to their 
tender mercies. Instead of heeding desolate La- 
vinia's piteous entreaties, Tamora, remembering 
only how deaf Titus was to her prayers, cruelly 
bids her sons lead their victim away. Casting Bas- 
sianus' body into a neighbouring pit covered with 
brush, the princes bear the struggling Lavinia off 
to a remote cave, while Tamora rejoins her swarthy 
lover. 

The stage now remains deserted until Aaron 
guides thither two of Titus' sons, under plea he has 
discovered a panther fast asleep in the thicket. Led 
by him, the youths near the hidden pit, into which 
one of them falls, and where, groping about in the 
darkness, he discovers murdered Bassianus. This 
discovery so unmans him that no strength remains 
to him to climb out of the pit, into which he drags 
the brother who tries to help him, while Aaron 
hastens away to summon Saturninus. 



Titus Andronicus 255 

Both young men are, therefore, found in this 
place by the emperor, who, learning his brother 
lies there murdered, believes them guilty of the 
crime. This suspicion is confirmed by the letter 
Tamora hands him, wherein he reads of a plot 
to murder Bassianus, in exchange for a bag of gold 
buried beneath a certain tree. The letter, the gold, 
and the dead body, all seem to fasten the guilt upon 
Titus' sons, although their father, who has joined 
the emperor, begs they may be duly tried ere sen- 
tenced. Too angry to yield to this entreaty, Satur- 
ninus orders the youths apprehended and forbidden 
to speak, while Tamora pretends to comfort their 
father by promising to intercede in their behalf. 

Meantime, in another part of the forest, re- 
appear Tamora's sons, who, having sated their lust, 
have cut off poor Lavinia's hands and tongue, so 
she can never reveal either by word or writing 
what has befallen her. After mocking this muti- 
lated victim, these cruel youths abandon her in a 
remote part of the forest, where her uncle Marcus 
meets her. Enquiring, in surprise* where is her 
husband, and why she is alone, he suddenly dis- 
covers her horrible plight, of which he remembers a 
similar example in the classic story of Philomel. 
Then, full of compassion both for what he sees and 
what he suspects, Marcus conducts his unfortunate 
niece to her father, whom this sad sight will craze 
with grief. 

Act III. The third act opens in a street in 
Rome, where the authorities are leading to execu- 
tion Titus' sons, while their father pleads in broken- 



256 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

hearted accents, saying he never mourned for the 
twenty-two youths who fell for their country, but is 
ready to abase himself in the dust in order to obtain 
the pardon of these. Deaf to his eloquent pleas, the 
tribunes pass on, and his last remaining son Lucius, 
finding him still there, bids him rise, explaining, — 
when asked why he is armed, — that after vainly try- 
ing to rescue his brothers, he has been banished for- 
ever from Rome. Such a sentence seems enviable to 
Titus, who vows Rome is now ' but a wilderness of 
tigers,' — a belief in which he is strengthened when 
he beholds Marcus and the unhappy Lavinia. 

When both father and son vehemently question 
the unfortunate girl, she is able to vouchsafe them 
no reply; so Marcus explains how he found her, his 
description wringing tears and words of compassion 
from his hearers. He adds that, when he informed 
Lavinia her brothers were accused of slaying her 
husband, her tears flowed faster still. But when 
Titus exclaims that they must by this time have paid 
the penalty of their crime, if they did commit it, 
Lavinia's grief increases. Seeing the tears course 
down her cheeks, the three men clumsily try to 
wipe them away, as she is unable to perform that 
task herself. 

It is while they are thus occupied, that Aaron 
enters, bringing word that if either Marcus, Titus, 
or Lucius will chop off his right hand, and send it 
to the emperor in token of submission, he promises 
to pardon the youths, who have not yet been exe- 
cuted. On hearing this Titus joyfuUy volunteers 
to sacrifice his hand, a sacrifice his son and brother 



Titus Andronicus 257 

try to forestall by the proffer of their own. Be- 
cause the three Andronici generously dispute which 
shall suffer such a loss, Aaron sternly bids them 
make haste. While the others go off in quest of 
an axe, wherewith to do the deed when the victim 
has been selected, Titus easily persuades Aaron to 
lop off his right hand with his sword, the cruel 
wretch muttering, while doing so, that Titus will 
soon find out how he has been deceived! When his 
brother and son return, therefore, Titus proudly 
exhibits his bleeding stump, urging Aaron to hasten 
with his severed hand to the emperor and redeem 
the life of his children, ' jewels purchased at an easy 
price/ Although Aaron departs, promising his sons 
will soon be with him, he gloats beneath his breath 
over the fact that Titus shall never again behold 
them alive. 

Bidding Lavinia kneel beside him to implore 
Heaven's aid to avenge his woes, Titus now pro- 
ceeds to characterise them with great eloquence. 
He has barely finished when a messenger brings 
him his own hand and his sons' heads, indignantly 
exclaiming great services are ill-requited by cruel 
mockery! While Titus stands speechless with grief 
and horror, his brother and son pour out their 
wrath, and Lavinia, by tears and kisses tries to 
show the compassion she cannot otherwise express. 
This horrible scene closes with the lament of uncle 
and son, and an outburst of mad laughter from 
Titus, who, having no further tears to shed, vows 
he, Lavinia, and Marcus will piously bury his sons' 
heads and his own severed hand, while Lucius hur- 



258 Stories of Shakespeare* s Tragedies 

lies off to raise a Gothic army and attack Rome. 
Left alone on the stage, when the mourners have 
departed, this youth breathes a touching farewell to 
Titus, whom he rightfully terms ' the wofull'st man 
that ever lived in Rome,' and to his poor mutilated 
sister, swearing, if he lives, to avenge their wrongs 
ere long. 

In the next scene we behold a room in Titus' 
house, where a banquet is spread, to which the host 
invites his brother, Lavinia, and a little grandson, 
to preserve strength enough to obtain revenge. The 
sight of his unhappy daughter, however, fills him 
with such a rage of pity that Marcus rebukes him, 
although both show tender compassion for Lavinia, 
feeding her and giving her to drink. Besides, Titus 
vows he is gradually learning to interpret her 
glances. 

The child, suggesting his aunt might be cheered 
by merry tales, is silenced by his elders ; but Marcus 
gives vent to some of the feelings he cannot express 
by viciously killing a fly, for which act of cruelty 
Titus reproaches him, pathetically saying the fly 
had a father and mother. When Marcus, however, 
mutters that the fly was as black as the empress's 
lover, Titus suddenly approves of its execution, in 
words which savour so strongly of insanity that his 
brother murmurs, ' Alas, poor man! Grief has so 
wrought on him, he takes false shadows for true 
substances.' This scene closes when Titus leads his 
daughter away, saying he and his grandson will read 
stories to her to distract her thoughts. 

Act IV. The fourth act opens in Titus' garden, 



Titus Andronlcus 259 

where the child, running in terror away from his 
aunt, seeks refuge in Marcus' arms. His uncle and 
grandfather reassure him by saying his aunt means 
him no harm, but wonder what can be the meaning 
of the signs she keeps making, and which have in- 
duced the lad to think she is mad. Now, the two 
men notice how Lavinia is turning over, with her 
stumps, some books which the child dropped, and 
perceive she is trying to communicate with them 
by signs. After a while, painfully turning over 
the leaves of Ovid's Metamorphoses, she finds the 
story of Philomel, to which she calls their atten- 
tion, so they conclude she, too, has been ravished 
ere her tongue was cut out and her hands lopped off. 

Suddenly inspired, Marcus proceeds to show his 
niece how, by holding a stick between his teeth, and 
guiding it with his feet, he can write upon the sand 
in the garden walks, imploring her to do so in her 
turn and reveal the name of her ravisher. The stick 
placed between her teeth, Lavinia painfully guides 
it with her stumps, and writes in the sand the names 
of Tamora's two sons. Father and uncle read them 
with horror, and, kneeling down beside her with 
the child, pledge themselves to avenge her. They 
decide, however, to keep this intention secret lest 
Tamora defeat it, and seeing the boy understands 
their purpose, bespeak his aid to execute it. Then 
Titus, Lavinia, and the lad leave the scene, while 
Marcus calls upon Heaven to avenge the wrongs of 
the Andronici ! 

The scene is now transferred to a room in the 
palace, where Tamora's sons marvel because Titus' 



160 Stories of Shakespeare* s Tragedies 

grandson has brought them a message. When ad- 
mitted, although the child utters aloud a courteous 
greeting, he prays in an aside that the gods may 
confound his hearers. Then, as instructed, he adds 
that his grandfather sends the princes choice weapons 
from his armory, muttering beneath his breath that 
they are bloody villains! After the lad has taken 
his leave with outward courtesy but secret defiance, 
the young men examine their presents, only to dis- 
cover, wrapped around the daggers, a verse of 
Horace, whose meaning they do not comprehend, 
although Aaron does. When they, therefore, ex- 
press wonder that Titus should send them gifts, he 
sarcastically suggests it is in return for their 
* friendly ' treatment of his daughter, a reminder 
which causes both fiends to express gruesome wishes 
worthy of their base natures. 

Then the young princes elect to pray for their 
mother in travail, just as trumpets proclaim the 
birth of a male child to the imperial couple. A mo- 
ment later a nurse hastily enters, asking for Aaron, 
and exclaiming when she beholds him that they are 
undone! Noting she carries some squirming ob- 
ject, Aaron questions her, only to discover that the 
empress has given birth to a black child, — his off- 
spring, — which, owing to its colour, it is impossible 
to pass off as the emperor's heir. On hearing these 
tidings, both princes wish to strangle the infant, 
whom their mother has sent to Aaron to dispose of 
immediately. His paternal feelings aroused, how- 
ever, Aaron defends the babe whom they would 
fain slay, threatening both Tamora's sons with his 



Titus Andronicus 26 1 

sword, and vowing he'll murder them if they lay 
a finger upon his child! Then, sending word to 
the empress that he will keep what is his own, he 
declares the infant is smiling ingratiatingly upon him 
and recognises his own image stamped upon its face. 

When the nurse and princes demand how their 
mistress and mother is to be saved from disgrace 
and from the emperor's wrath, Aaron, after ascer- 
taining that none but the nurse, midwife, and em- 
press are aware of the fact that a coloured babe has 
been born, promptly decides that ' two may keep 
counsel when the third's away,' and stabs the nurse 
so she can never reveal their secret. Then, he jus- 
tifies what he has done to the princes as an ' act of 
policy,' ere he adds that the wife of one of his friends, 
having given birth to a fair child, he will purchase 
this babe, which Tamora can pass off as the em- 
peror's heir. Bidding the princes dispose of the 
nurse's corpse, he promises to rid them of the mid- 
wife, too, and charges both to guard their mother's 
secret. When both young men have borne off the 
body, Aaron decides to carry his babe to the Goths, 
to be bred among them as a warrior. 

In a public square in Rome we next behold Titus, 
bearing arrows to which letters are attached, and 
summoning his kinsmen to see how cleverly his 
grandson can shoot. He declares these letters are 
addressed to Pluto, Apollo, and Jupiter; talking so 
wildly the while that all present compassionately 
murmur he has lost his wits. Marcus, while watch- 
ing his irresponsible brother, secretly urges the rest 
to join the Goths in war against Rome. Suddenly 



262 Stories of Shakespeare' s Tragedies 

Titus enquires what answer Pluto is sending; so 
one of the bystanders humours him by pretending 
to deliver a message, purporting that Revenge will 
execute his orders as soon as she has leisure to attend 
to his affairs. This delay seems irksome to Titus, 
who bids his grandson shoot letters to Mars, Mer- 
cury, and the other gods in turn, and rejoices when 
the spectators give fantastical descriptions of the 
havoc his shots are effecting among the constellations. 
Seeing a clown pass by with doves in a basket, Titus 
next hails him as a messenger from Heaven; but, 
his questions being answered in such a way that a 
misunderstanding arises, Marcus smoothes it out 
with the suggestion that the clown bear the pigeons 
to the emperor, together with a letter from Titus, 
adding directions in regard to his behaviour while 
in the palace. 

The actors in this scene have barely left when 
Saturninus appears, accompanied by Tamora, her 
sons, and his suite, holding in his hand some of 
Titus' arrows, and angrily exclaiming that never was 
emperor so annoyed as he since the execution of 
Andronicus' sons! He adds that the crazed old 
man is now appealing to the gods, his letters lying 
broadcast in Rome to stir up sedition among the 
people. In his wrath Saturninus vows he will see 
justice dealt out, a resolve which Tamora pretends 
to oppose by urging that Titus' actions are the 
result of age and sorrows. But, in an aside, she 
exclaims her revenge is near at hand, provided 
Aaron has executed her orders. It is at this moment 
that the clown appears, and in his confusion ad- 



Titus Andronicus 263 

dresses Tamora as emperor, before he manages to 
deliver his letter to the right party. He gives way 
to noisy grief when, instead of receiving the reward 
he expects, he is led away to be hanged. Having 
meantime read his letter, Saturninus exclaims he will 
no longer stand such persecution, and orders Titus 
brought before him to suffer his just doom. 

Before this order can be carried out a Roman 
rushes in, exclaiming that the Goths, led by An- 
dronicus' son, are on their way to attack Rome, so 
that worse peril now threatens the city than in the 
days of Coriolanus. These tidings cause dismay at 
court, for Saturninus knows the common people will 
favour Lucius, whom they deem unjustly perse- 
cuted. Although Tamora encourages him to believe 
that the city is so well fortified it will be easy to 
defend, the emperor shows such dejection that she 
urges him to bestir himself, promising to win old 
Andronicus ' with words more sweet, and yet more 
dangerous, than baits to fish, or honey-stalks to 
sheep.' Her plan consists in inducing the old man 
to invite his son to his house, the messenger who 
has brought news of Lucius' arrival being selected 
to summon him to Rome for a parley, and offer 
him any hostages he cares to ask. Then, the mes- 
senger having gone to carry out her orders, Tamora 
prepares to visit Andronicus, and use all her arts to 
separate Lucius from the Goths, assuring the em- 
peror he can trust her to help him. 

Act V. The fifth act opens on the plains near 
Rome, where Lucius is encamped with the Gothic 
army, which he eloquently addresses, saying Saturni- 



264 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

nus is hated in Rome, where all long for his presence. 
The Goths, proud to be led by the son of their 
former brave foe, express delight at these tidings, and 
promise to follow Lucius wherever he leads them, an 
offer he receives with due gratitude, as a sentinel 
ushers in Aaron and his babe. They have just been 
found in a deserted monastery, where the father 
was overheard exclaiming that had not the child's 
colour betrayed him, he might have been emperor 
of Rome. 

On recognising Aaron as the villain who tricked 
his father into sacrificing his hand, and as the para- 
mour of Tamora, Lucius begins to question him, 
and finding he will not answer, orders him hanged 
with his child. But Aaron peremptorily forbids 
them to touch a babe of royal blood, a statement 
Lucius refuses to credit owing to the marked re- 
semblance between father and child. A ladder being 
brought, Aaron declares that, if Lucius will only 
spare the child and carry it to the empress, he will 
reveal to him matters of great moment. On this 
condition Lucius promises the babe shall live, and 
learns it is the offspring of Aaron and Tamora, and 
that the latter's sons, after murdering Bassianus, 
ravished and mutilated Lucius' sister, while Aaron 
decoyed his brothers in to the pit, wrote the letter, 
and buried the gold, which served as proof of their 
guilt. Aaron adds that all this was done at Tam- 
ora's instigation, to punish Titus for sacrificing her 
eldest son, and that, hidden behind a wall, he 
laughed on beholding Titus' dismay when confronted 
with his severed hand and his sons' heads. 



Titus Andronicus 26$ 

Such is the fiendish glee he exhibits in describing 
these crimes that all present marvel, while the 
criminal adds his sole regret is not to have com- 
mitted more black deeds! Because hanging seems 
too merciful a death for such a monster, Lucius has 
him brought down from the ladder, and securely 
gagged, so he can utter no further atrocities. It is 
at this juncture that the messenger appears to in- 
vite Lucius to a parley in his father's house, offering 
any security he wishes. After a moment's consider- 
ation Lucius accepts this invitation, bargaining that 
hostages be delivered to his father and uncle. 

The next scene is played in Rome before Titus' 
house, where Tamora and her sons appear in dis- 
guise; for, taking advantage of Titus' delusion, 
Tamora personates the Revenge he summoned, and 
her sons her traditional attendants. In reply to 
their knocking, Titus peers from a window above, 
demanding who disturbs his contemplations? When 
Tamora replies that Revenge has come to converse 
with him, Titus bitterly retorts that wanting a 
hand he cannot gesticulate; still, he is not so mad 
as the empress deems him, for, notwithstanding her 
disguise, he recognises her plainly. Insisting she is 
not his foe, the empress, but his friend Revenge, 
come from the infernal regions to execute his orders, 
Tamora implores him to admit her. Recognising the 
princes beside her as Rape and Murder incarnate, 
Titus grimly bids her slay them both if she would 
have him believe her, whereupon she reiterates they 
are not the Gothic princes, but the attendants of 
Revenge. Then Titus suddenly consents to admit 



266 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

the trio, and while he is coming to the door, Tamora 
instructs her sons how she means to trick him into 
sending for Lucius, and that while all are feasting 
in his house, she will find some pretext to scatter 
the Gothic host. 

Opening wide the door, Titus now bids Revenge, 
Rape, and Murder welcome, adding grimly that 
were they only accompanied by a swarthy Moor, he 
would swear they were the empress and her sons! 
To play her part, Revenge now enquires what he 
wishes, while her sons beg him to point out any 
criminals and they will punish them. Sternly bid- 
ding them go in the wicked streets of Rome, where 
they will find wrong-doers in plenty, Titus adds 
that there is, for instance, an empress, her lover, 
and sons, who have treated him and his with such 
cruelty that they deserve violent deaths. After as- 
suring him his orders will be duly executed, Tamora 
suggests he invite Lucius to a banquet at his house, 
where the emperor, the empress, her sons, and all 
his foes will be present and at his mercy. Ac- 
quiescing, Titus summons Marcus, who is told to 
go in person and invite Lucius and the Gothic 
chiefs, — leaving the army meanwhile in camp, — and 
warning them that they are to feast with the imperial 
couple at his house. After Marcus has hastened 
away, Tamora proposes to depart with her satellites, 
but Titus refuses to lose sight of the princes, under 
penalty of recalling his invitation to his son. After 
a whispered conference with both youths, there- 
fore, wherein she bids them humour mad Titus 
while she apprises the emperor of what she has done, 



Titus Andronicus 267 

Tamora departs, not noticing Titus' grim aside that, 
although they deem him insane, he ' will o'erreach 
them in their own devices.' 

The empress having gone, the princes enquire 
what Titus wishes them to do, whereupon he as- 
sures them they shall soon be put to good use, and 
summons some friends. Confronting them with the 
disguised princes, — whom they have no difficulty in 
recognising, — Titus declares it is not Tamora's sons 
they behold, but Rape and Murder, whom they are 
to bind and gag. Thus, although both princes 
struggle and vainly proclaim their real names, they 
are soon bound fast and gagged. Meantime, Titus 
has gone out, only to reappear with Lavinia, he 
bearing a knife and she a basin. Leading his daugh- 
ter before her ravishers, he denounces them to all 
present as the murderers of her husband and 
brothers, adding that they defiled and mutilated her, 
and declaring that with his sole remaining hand he 
intends to cut their throats, while Lavinia receives 
their guilty blood in her basin! To punish their 
mother, who has tried to delude him into the be- 
lief that she is Revenge, he further means to make 
her eat her sons' flesh in a pasty, vowing that since 
they treated his only daughter like Philomel, he 
will take the same revenge as Progne. Thereupon, 
he carries out this ghastly programme, himself pre- 
paring the cannibal dish he has devised for Tamora's 
delectation at the coming banquet. 

The next scene represents the banquet hall, where 
Lucius and his companions are welcomed by Marcus, 
into whose hands they deliver their prisoner Aaron. 



268 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

He is to be confronted with the empress later on, a 
prospect which causes him to hope some demon will 
then prompt his tongue to utter all ' the venomous 
malice ' of his swelling heart. 

A blast of trumpets next heralds the arrival of 
the imperial party, and Saturninus, on entering, 
greets Lucius in such haughty terms that Marcus 
hastens to avert a quarrel by inviting all to table. 
There, Titus dressed as a cook, and Lavinia closely 
veiled, bring in dishes, which are set on the table, 
ere the host welcomes his guests, telling them he is 
playing cook to do honour to august visitors. Then, 
under guise of polite conversation, Titus enquires 
whether Saturninus deems Virgilius did well when 
he slew his daughter ? 1 Being told this was an ex- 
ample all Roman fathers should follow, Titus stabs 
Lavinia, bidding her shame die with her! When 
Saturninus exclaims he is an unnatural parent, Titus 
explains his daughter was ravished, but goes on press- 
ing the viands upon his guests. Next, he accuses 
Tamora's sons of having dishonoured and muti- 
lated Lavinia, revealing when the emperor demands 
they be summoned, how he has baked them into the 
pie on which their mother has feasted ! Then, draw- 
ing his dagger, Titus stabs Tamora, only to fall 
himself, a moment later, by the emperor's hand. 

To avenge the father's death Lucius now slays 
Saturninus, and hearing a tumult without, hurries 
to the upper balcony to harangue the people. It is 
from this position that Marcus, addressing the Ro- 
mans, informs them that Lucius, their friend, will 
1 Guerber's • Story of the Romans,' pp. 96-98. 



Titus Andronicus 269 

explain all that has just occurred, which the latter 
immediately proceeds to do by rehearsing the horrors 
with which this tragedy teems. When he explains 
that the black babe, — whom he points out, — is son 
of Aaron and Tamora, all admit Titus did right in 
slaying the empress, and when Marcus offers that 
he, and his kinsman, — the last of the Andronici, — 
be sacrificed if the Romans wish, the people reply 
by hailing Lucius as emperor and demanding Aaron's 
death. Descending among them, Lucius promises 
to govern Rome well, ere he pays a last tribute of 
respect to his dead father, while his uncle and 
nephew also honour the noble corpse. 

Then Aaron is brought in to hear his sentence from 
the lips of the Andronici, who doom him to be buried 
alive up to his head, and abandoned on some desert 
plain, to die there of exposure and starvation. This 
cruel sentence does not cause Aaron to repent, for 
even then he cries that, if he ever did one good deed, 
he repents it from his very soul. After giving orders 
for Saturninus' burial, Lucius adds that his father 
and Lavinia are to be laid in the tomb of the An- 
dronici, and Tamora's remains cast to the dogs. 
Then, justice having been done, he proposes to 
1 order well the state, that like events may ne'er 
it ruinate,' and the curtain falls on the most grue- 
some collection of tragic events that has ever been 
brought together. 



TIMON OF ATHENS 

Act I. The first act opens in Athens, in the 
hall of Timon's house, just as poet, painter, jeweller, 
and merchant, enter by different doors to await the 
coming of their wealthy lord and patron. Mean- 
while, they exchange greetings, the poet and painter 
entering into conversation together, and presently 
asking the jeweller what he has brought to sell? 
Proud of his wares, the jeweller exhibits a gem of 
such uncommon beauty and value that all present 
rave about it. Meanwhile, the poet cons over the 
lines he has written, until the painter, noticing his 
abstraction, wonders whether he is about to dedicate 
some new work to the great lord whose favour they 
are all seeking. The poet negligently rejoins it is 
only a trifle, which idly slipped from him, ere beg- 
ging permission to see in his turn what the painter 
has to offer? The picture he is shown is evidently 
a portrait of Timon, since he praises it until the 
pleased painter modestly admits ' it is a pretty mock- 
ing of the life.' 

Meantime, senators are passing through the hall 
on their way to join Timon, who, painter and 
poet decide, must be a happy man since so many 
people pay court to him. The poet now states he 
has tried to describe in his rough work ' a man, 
whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug with 

270 



Timon of Athens 271 

amplest entertainment,' using for his verse the bold 
flight of an eagle. He also remarks that all condi- 
tions of men come to tender their service to Lord 
Timon, whose popularity depends even more upon 
his large fortune than upon the good and gracious 
nature which ' subdues and properties to his love 
and tendance all sorts of hearts,' from that of the 
cynical philosopher Apemantus, — who enjoys nothing 
so much as abhorring himself, — down to the lowest 
of those who kneel at his nod. In his poem, the 
poet claims he has represented Fortune enthroned 
upon a high hill, up whose sides climb all manner 
of men with eyes devoutly fixed upon their sovereign 
lady. But one of these men, — who, of course, per- 
sonates Timon, — is wafted up to Fortune's side by 
a motion from her ivory wand, only to receive in- 
numerable gifts, which he carelessly passes on to 
others. The painter deems this conceit a happy one, 
although the poet fancies the people who surround 
Timon with their flattery might, should Fortune 
change her mood and spurn him down from the top 
of the hill he has climbed, refuse to accompany ' his 
declining foot.' The painter avers, however, such 
is the common lot of mankind, and exclaims ' A 
thousand moral paintings I can show that shall 
demonstrate these quick blows of Fortune's more 
pregnantly than words.' Still, he praises the poet for 
making his meaning plain even to Timon's eyes. 

Just then the sound of trumpets is heard, and 
Lord Timon enters, speaking to his various visitors 
in turn. All at once, he is approached by a mes- 
senger from Ventidius, reporting that his lord is in 



272 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

prison, where, unless five talents are immediately 
sent, he will have to remain. In his distress, Ven- 
tidius beseeches the aid of Timon, who generously 
exclaims : ' I am not of that feather to shake off my 
friend when he must need me.' On the contrary, 
knowing Ventidius to be a gentleman deserving 
help, Timon generously volunteers to pay the whole 
debt and set him free, sending the messenger off with 
an invitation, to present himself, as soon as he is 
released, to Timon, who will give him further aid, 
for ' 'tis not enough to help the feeble up,' but one 
must ' support him after.' 

The messenger having gone, an old Athenian steps 
forward, and after greeting the rich man, bitterly 
complains that his servant, Lucilius, frequents his 
house and wooes his young daughter. The old 
Athenian does not approve of this suitor, because he 
wishes his daughter to marry a man of means. 
When Timon remarks that his servant is honest, 
the old father coolly rejoins ' his honesty rewards 
him in itself,' but that he shall not have his daugh- 
ter. On learning that the young people love each 
other dearly, but that the father will disinherit the 
girl if they persist in seeing each other, Timon en- 
quires what dowry the Athenian intends to give 
her in case she marries according to his wishes? 
After hearing the father's intentions, Timon declares 
his man has served him so faithfully that he will 
strain a little i to build his fortune.' He, therefore, 
bargains, that provided the Athenian give Lucilius 
his daughter, he, Timon, will bestow upon his serv- 
ant an amount equal to the girl's dowry. This 



Tlmon of Athens 273 

fully satisfies the avaricious parent, who, trusting in 
Timon's promise, goes off with the overjoyed and 
grateful Lucilius. 

The poet and painter now draw near Timon, who 
graciously accepts the proffered poem and praises 
the painting, promising to prove his satisfaction to 
both artists in some substantial manner. Turning 
to the jeweller, Timon next informs him his ' jewel 
hath suffer'd under praise,' a remark which alarms 
the merchant, but which Timon explains by adding 
that should he pay it as highly as it has been ex- 
tolled, it would bankrupt him. The jeweller rejoins 
1 things of like value differing in the owners are 
prized by their masters,' and assures him he will 
1 mend the jewel by the wearing it.' When Timon 
hints this is meant sarcastically, the merchant as- 
sures him, * no, my good lord ; he speaks the common 
tongue, which all men speak with him/ 

Just then the churlish philosopher Apemantus 
comes in, and the rest whisper he will spare none 
of them, as he is noted for his propensity for utter- 
ing surly and disagreeable truths. He does not 
disappoint their expectations, for he returns the 
greetings of Timon, poet, merchant, and painter 
with such acerbity, that the dialogue soon degen- 
erates into a verbal fencing match, wherein the surli- 
ness of the philosopher becomes only too apparent. 
He derides everything, and when Timon proudly ex- 
hibits his recent purchases, runs them down, too, 
vowing everybody is merely trying to make as much 
as possible out of a wealthy patron. 

In the midst of this talk a blast of trumpets is 



274 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

heard, and when Timon enquires what this noise 
means, a servant informs him Alcibiades has just 
arrived with some twenty horsemen. Giving orders 
that they, too, be well entertained, Timon turns to 
the rest, inviting them to dine with him, and charg- 
ing them not to depart until he has had time to thank 
them properly for coming and to examine all they 
have brought. Then, Alcibiades appearing, Timon 
steps forward to greet him, while the philosopher 
sarcastically comments that everybody shows polite- 
ness to the rich man. 

Meantime, Alcibiades and Timon have exchanged 
greetings; the latter assures his guest he is welcome, 
and vows that ere they part they ' will share a 
bounteous time in different pleasures.' To begin 
with, Timon conducts his guests into a neighbouring 
banqueting-room, thus leaving Apemantus alone on 
the stage for a few moments. He is soon joined, 
however, by a couple of lords, who attempt to enter 
into conversation with him, but he gives churlish 
replies to their bantering remarks and finally goes 
off, still snarling at the rich man and his friends. 
The lords now prepare to join the banqueters and 
enjoy the lavish hospitality of Timon, vowing he 
* out-goes the very heart of kindness,' and that no 
gift is ever bestowed upon him ' but breeds the giver 
a return exceeding all use of quittance.' It is 
evident they approve of Timon's lavishness, for they 
express a hope he may long live in fortune. 

We are next transferred to the banqueting-room, 
where soft music is played, while Ventidius address- 
ing Timon, exclaims it has at last pleased the gods 




« o .E 

0. Q. (_ 



E 
i- 



Timon of Athens 275 

to recall his aged father and leave him very rich. 
In ' grateful virtue,' he can now return the five 
talents through whose aid he recovered his freedom. 
But Timon refuses to accept this payment, exclaim- 
ing, ' I gave it freely ever ; and there's none can 
truly say he gives, if he receives.' Then, turning 
to his other guests, and noticing they are still stand- 
ing, he invites them all to sit down, declaring 
' ceremony was but devised at first to set a gloss on 
faint deeds, hollow welcomes, recanting goodness, 
sorry ere 'tis shown ;' and adds that where ' there 
is true friendship, there needs none.' Instead of 
grace, he calls to his friends * more welcome are ye 
to my fortunes than my fortunes to me,' and urges 
them all to sit down. All rejoice in such a welcome 
except Apemantus, who insists he has come here 
only to be thrown out, for he wishes to give his 
host a well-meant warning. Without paying heed 
to his strictures, Timon politely expresses a hope his 
meat will annul all objections, but the philosopher 
refuses to be silenced. He vows that Timon is blind 
since he fails to see that all these people are dipping 
in his blood, and adds that his greatest madness 
consists in cheering them on to do it. In fact, 
Apemantus clearly gives his host to understand that 
he considers his guests mere parasites, and as Timon, 
in reply, proposes a health, he vows it will not be 
long before such health-drinking ' will make thee 
and thy state look ill.' Then he pronounces a grace 
which is the acme of cynicism, wherein among other 
things he prays he may never be so foolish as ' to 
trust man on his oath or bond.' 



276 Stories of Shakespeare' s Tragedies 

His grace ended, the philosopher sits down to 
eat and drink, while Timon, turning to Alcibiades, 
asks whether his heart is already in the field, and 
whether he prefers a breakfast of enemies to a din- 
ner of friends? Their playful conversation is in- 
terrupted by sarcastic remarks from Apemantus, 
and by enthusiastic praises on the part of the 
other guests in regard to the magnificence of the 
feast. In reply Timon assures them he is proud to 
entertain so many friends, and that he has often 
wished himself poor so he might come nearer to 
them. Still, he realises fully that the least thing a 
rich man can do is to share his wealth with others 
as with brothers, principles highly approved by all 
present, save Apemantus. This conversation con- 
tinues with unabated vivacity until sounds of a new 
arrival are heard. 

Before long a servant announces that some ladies 
have come and are sending a herald to beg for 
admittance. After ordering this emissary shown in, 
Timon is greeted by Cupid, who announces ' the 
five best senses acknowledge thee their patron; and 
come freely to gratulate thy plenteous bosom.' In 
return, Timon bids such guests heartily welcome, 
whereupon Cupid ushers in five ladies in masks, 
who sing and dance, to the delight and entertain- 
ment of all present, save the churlish Apemantus. 
He seems to consider them mad women, and deems 
the spectators fools to gaze admiringly at them and 
expend flatteries upon their host! 

A moment later some lords rise from the table, 
and after returning thanks in pantomime to Timon, 



Timon of Athens 277 

join the ladies and dance with them to the strains 
of gay music. It is only when all are out of 
breath, and when the music ceases, that Timon can 
thank the strangers for adding worth and lustre to 
his entertainment; the praises he utters being offset 
by snappish, mocking comments on the part of the 
philosopher. Then Timon invites his female guests 
to step into an adjoining room, where a banquet 
awaits them, for he wishes to entertain them in 
return for the pleasure they have given him and his 
friends. 

The ladies and Cupid having gone, Timon bids 
his steward bring him his casket, whereupon the 
man wonders whether his master is going to bestow 
more jewels upon his friends? He knows, however, 
* there is no crossing him in's humour,' and that it 
is vain to warn him he is spending more than he 
can afford, so goes off grumbling. Meanwhile, sev- 
eral of the guests call for their horses and prepare to 
depart; but, when the steward returns, Timon 
eagerly snatches the casket from him, and begs them 
to accept trifles, — as he calls them, — which he be- 
stows with many gracious words. All his gifts are 
received with delight by the guests and the presenta- 
tion ceremony is barely finished, when the servant 
announces some senators are arriving. Timon has 
just exclaimed he will receive them with joy, when 
his steward, bending down to his ear, anxiously begs 
a moment's hearing, as he has matters of importance 
to communicate. Carelessly rejoining he will listen 
some other time, Timon bids the steward hasten off 
to prepare suitable entertainment for newcomers, 



278 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

an order poor Flavius does not know how to carry 
out, seeing there is nothing left! 

Just then a servant reports that Lord Lucius, 
1 out of his free love,' presents Timon with ' four 
milk-white horses, trapp'd in silver,' a gift which is 
graciously accepted, as well as that from Lord 
Lucullus, who sends a brace of hunting hounds, 
with an invitation to hunt on the morrow. Timon 
bids these gifts be accepted and the bringers re- 
warded, while the steward wonders what will come 
of it all, and how he can supply his master's wants 
from empty coffers? He murmurs that Timon's 
1 promises fly so beyond his state ' that he is already 
deeply in debt, his lands having long been mort- 
gaged, and no further devices remaining whereby 
funds can be raised. He wishes, before the ruin is 
complete, he might gently be removed from office, 
and sadly vows * happier is he that has no friend 
to feed than such that do e'en enemies exceed.' 

Meantime, Timon goes on bestowing jewels, 
promising steeds, and assuring his friends he gauges 
their affection by his own, and that hence all he 
has is at their disposal. Such an assurance is grate- 
ful to the parasites, who depart uttering voluble 
thanks for his gifts. All the rest having gone, the 
philosopher assures Timon that only ' honest fools 
lay out their wealth on court'sies,' to which Timon 
rejoins he would fain be good to him, too. But 
the philosopher protests should he be bribed to keep 
silence, no one would ever remind Timon of the 
foolishness of his behaviour. Weary of what sounds 
like idle croakings, Timon passes out of the room, 



Timon of Athens 279 

while the philosopher mutters it is a pity ' men's 
ears should be to counsel deaf, but not to flattery ! \ 

Act II. The second act opens in a senator's 
house, at the moment when he is looking over some 
papers, and remembers how Timon has lately bor- 
rowed large sums of money, which, seeing his waste- 
ful habits, there is no likelihood he can ever repay. 
This senator, remembering how, whenever a gift 
is bestowed upon Timon he always repays it ten- 
fold, suddenly decides to call in his loans, and sum- 
moning a servant, sends him off to Timon's house 
to ask for the repayment of his funds. The man 
is instructed not to leave without obtaining the 
money, for his master feels sure that Timon, who 
flashes now like a phoenix, will soon be nothing but 
a ' naked gull.' Having secured the necessary vouch- 
ers, the servant departs, and the curtain next rises 
on the hall in Timon's house, where the steward 
Flavius, his hands full of bills, sadly remarks there 
is no end to his master's senseless expenditure. He 
vows that Timon takes no account of the things that 
go from him, and that, when he returns from hunt- 
ing, he must again call his attention to his disordered 
affairs. 

At that moment the servants of three of Timon's 
friends enter together, all bound on the same errand, 
that is to say, to collect loans. A moment later, 
Timon, Alcibiades, and their respective trains ap- 
pear, the master of the house loudly calling for his 
dinner, and hospitably inviting all to partake of 
this meal with him. Approaching him with the notes 
they wish paid, all three servants are referred in 



280 Stories of Shakespeare' s Tragedies 

lordly fashion to the steward, although they ob- 
ject he has put them off again and again. When 
Timon impatiently rejoins he has no leisure to at- 
tend to them now, all three become so importunate 
that he urges his friends to pass into the banqueting- 
room without him, promising to join them soon. 
Then, turning to his steward, Timon indignantly 
demands how it comes he is thus besieged by duns, 
and why debts long due have not been paid? Not 
wishing publicly to expose his master's poverty, 
Flavius promises to explain matters as soon as 
Timon has leisure to hear him, and persuades the 
duns to wait until dinner is over. Giving orders 
that they be hospitably entertained, Timon goes off 
to join his guests, while Flavius leaves the stage in 
despair. 

The duns are now joined by the philosopher and 
a fool, with whom they enter into a bantering con- 
versation, which lasts until a page appears bringing 
letters. He, too, exchanges witticisms with them, 
ere he begs Apemantus to read for him the ad- 
dresses on the letters he has to deliver. The fool and 
philosopher, renewing their argument, come to the 
conclusion that the duns serve usurers, and that 
Timon acted unwisely in allowing himself to be 
plucked so ruthlessly by his friends. 

They are interrupted in their talk by the entrance 
of Timon and of the steward, the master of the 
house impatiently dismissing them all, so he can 
converse privately with his man. When alone, 
Timon enquires why Flavius has not sooner called 
his attention to the present state of affairs, stating, 



Timon of Athens 281 

* I might so have rated my expense, as I had leave 
of means.' The man assures him he. has often 
vainly tried to do so, mentioning in self-defence, 
how frequently he has brought his accounts, only to 
be dismissed to see to this or procure that, until 
what is left of Timon's fortunes scarcely suffices 
to cover outstanding debts. 

When Timon exclaims that all his lands, extend- 
ing as far as Lacedcemon, must immediately be 
sold, the steward reminds him they have long been 
pledged, and that this money has gone in riotous 
feasting, for his friends have been preying upon him 
shamefully. Granted the opportunity to speak, the 
steward adds that ' when the means are gone that 
buy this praise, the breath is gone whereof this praise 
is made,' giving such an eloquent and detailed state- 
ment in regard to Timon's disordered finances that 
the unfortunate man finally bids him cease, exclaim- 
ing, ' no villainous bounty yet hath pass'd my heart ; 
unwisely, not ignobly, have I given.' 

Because Flavius weeps over his ruin, Timon 
proudly informs him he has many friends, and can 
easily tide over present difficulties by borrowing from 
them. Confident that all whom he has helped will 
be glad to aid him, Timon summons two servants, 
and bids them hasten to the lords Lucius, Lucullus, 
Sempronius, and the senators, with requests to lend 
him funds. He refuses to heed the steward when 
the latter states he has already tried to borrow 
from them, but that whenever he has done so they 
have shaken their heads and dismissed him empty- 
handed. To convince his incredulous master, 



282 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

Flavius repeats their excuses, and describes their 
actions ; whereupon Timon vows his man must have 
angered these true friends or they would surely have 
complied with his request. Timon feels so sure 
that Ventidius, whom he so recently helped, and 
who is now so rich, will gladly assist him in his 
turn, that he haughtily bids Flavius ' ne'er speak, or 
think, that Timon's fortunes 'mong his friends can 
sink,' when this man continues incredulous. 

Act III. The third act opens in Lucullus' house, 
where Timon's servant is waiting for admittance. 
On entering the room and perceiving one of Timon's 
men, Lucullus fancies he is bringing, as usual, a 
costly gift. Because he dreamt last night of a great 
silver basin and ewer which he would like to pos- 
sess, Lucullus fancies this gift is being brought to 
him, and, therefore, playfully enquires what the 
man is concealing beneath his cloak? When the 
servant rejoins it is an empty box, in which he hopes 
to carry off the money Timon needs, Lucullus re- 
joins his friend is passing foolish to keep an open 
house, and that, although he often went there to 
dinner to remonstrate with him, and stayed to sup- 
per to continue the good work, he regrets to state 
Timon has always refused to heed his warnings. 
Ashamed to refuse his aid, however, he tries to bribe 
Timon's servant to report him not at home; but 
the man, knowing how lavish Timon has always 
been in his gifts to Lucullus, is so indignant at such 
meanness, that he refuses the tip Lucullus offers, 
only to be called a fool and fit for his master! 
Left alone, the servant curses Timon's false friend, 



Timon of Athens 283 

venomously declaring he hopes his master's meat 
still in Lucullus' stomach will turn to poison, and 
wondering ' has friendship such a faint and milky 
heart, it turns in less than two nights?' 

On a public square we next behold Lucius, — one 
of Timon's former flatterers, — discussing with three 
strangers the rumours afloat concerning the great 
man's loss of all his worldly goods, and his friends' 
churlish refusal to lend him aid. All agree it is 
contemptible friends should refuse favours to a man 
who has been so generous with them, but Lucius 
has barely protested his own extreme devotion, when 
one of Timon's servants approaches him, begging for 
a loan. With great volubility, Lucius now explains 
how gladly he would aid Timon, had he not just 
purchased goods for which he must pay out every 
cent he owns. With loud protestations of affection 
and devotion, he sends the servant empty-handed 
away ; then, turning to the strangers, declares Timon 
is ruined, since he is vainly trying to borrow, and 
sagely adds, * he that's once denied will hardly 
speed.' After Lucius has left them, the strangers 
comment upon his heartlessness, declaring that, al- 
though not acquainted with Timon, they would 
willingly serve one who in his prosperity has al- 
ways been generous, and whom they admire for ' his 
right noble mind, illustrious virtue, and honour- 
able carriage.' 

In another house in Athens Sempronius is won- 
dering why Timon should apply to him for funds 
rather than to Lucius, Lucullus, or Ventidius? 
When he asks this question of the servant who has 



284 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

come to borrow money, the man assures him all these 
friends have been tried and found wanting. Hear- 
ing this, Sempronius pretends to feel insulted be- 
cause he was asked last, and for that reason refuses 
to help Timon, exclaiming * who bates mine honour 
shall not know my coin.' Leaving the room after 
this burst of pretended virtuous indignation, Sem- 
pronius does not hear the servant term him a villain, 
or exclaim Timon is being sorely punished for his 
lavishness, before he ruefully adds ' this is all a 
liberal course allows; who cannot keep his wealth 
must keep his house.' 

We now return to Timon's dwelling, where the 
creditors' servants have assembled, and are eagerly 
asking whether Timon cannot be seen, and will not 
pay their claims ? They conclude ' deepest winter ' 
must have come to his purse, and one of them adds 
he is ashamed of his master, who wears a jewel 
Timon has not paid for, yet refuses to share any 
of his wealth with his friend. They are still dis- 
cussing this affair, when a servant passes through 
the room, of whom they eagerly enquire when 
Timon will appear? A moment later they perceive 
the steward trying to slip out, so muffled up in a 
cloak that he looks as if he were going ' away in a 
cloud.' They, therefore, seize him and demand 
money; whereupon he bluntly informs them none is 
left, and that as his master has nothing for him to 
reckon, he is about to leave. A moment later the 
servant comes back, gravely informing the duns 
Timon is too much out of health to see them. Such 
being the case, the impudent duns declare he should 



Timon of Athens 285 

pay his debts, so as to be reconciled to the gods and 
depart in peace. 

Their clamours for payment become so noisy at 
last that Timon enters in a rage; but when all 
thrust their bills at him, he rushes out again in 
despair. Then, only, do they leave, exclaiming 
their masters will have to consider these debts ' des- 
perate ones, for a madman owes 'em,' and of course 
insane persons are not held responsible for bills. 
When they have gone Timon comes back into this 
apartment, in company with his steward, railing 
bitterly against the men who so cruelly dun him; 
nevertheless, he soon bids Flavius go and invite these 
false friends to a last feast, and when the man cries 
there is nothing left to lay before them, vows he and 
his cook will provide all that is necessary for this 
final entertainment. 

We now behold the senate house, where the sena- 
tors have decided on the death of a soldier, a decree 
against which Alcibiades comes to plead, indignantly 
exclaiming that ' pity is the virtue of the law, and 
none but tyrants use it cruelly.' As the senators 
will not yield to his entreaties, and accuse him of 
1 striving to make an ugly deed look fair,' Alcibiades 
pleads the services this man has rendered the state on 
different occasions, and the many wounds he has re- 
ceived, and even reminds them of his own deserts. 
The senators, however, remain obdurate, and when 
Alcibiades reviles them, become so indignant Uiat 
they banish him and go away. This decree calls forth 
hot curses from Alcibiades, together with the threat 
that he will collect all the discontented, and with 



286 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

their aid besiege Athens, of which he has no doubt 
he will soon become master. He deems ' 'tis honour 
with most lands to be at odds ; soldiers should brook 
as little wrongs as gods,' and, therefore, goes off in 
high dudgeon. 

The curtain next rises on the banqueting-room in 
Timon's house, where all has been prepared for the 
guests, who come thronging into the house, as usual, 
shamefacedly concluding all rumours have been false, 
and that Timon has merely been testing their affec- 
tion. All, therefore, glibly set forth their valid ex- 
cuses for not honouring his demands, making their 
refusals sound as plausible as possible, in hope of 
deceiving each other. When Timon enters, they 
surround him as usual with adulation, feeling sure 
he is still the lavish host who will enrich them with 
gifts, and declaring fulsomely ' the swallow follows 
not summer more willing than we your lordship,' 
when he invites them to the feast. 

On crowding around the table, the guests per- 
ceive none but covered dishes in sight, and hence 
gleefully conclude they contain gifts to be lavished 
upon them. Meantime, they openly continue their 
remarks, regretting they could not oblige Timon 
at the moment, and expressing amazement that Al- 
cibiades should have incurred banishment. When 
all are seated, Timon pronounces an extraordinarily 
cynical grace, concluding with the words ' for these 
my present friends, as they are to me nothing, so in 
nothing bless them, and to nothing are they wel- 
come.' Then, with the words, ' uncover, dogs, and 
lap,' Timon orders the covers of the dishes removed, 



Timon of Athens 287 

and his guests perceive they contain nothing but hot 
water! Because they stare in mute amazement, 
Timon first reviles them as detested parasites, and 
then throws the water in their faces, driving them 
out amid the deafening clash of the dishes he hurls 
after them. In this way the banqueting-room is 
speedily cleared, and Timon, standing alone in the 
midst of his wrecked fortunes, grimly vows he will 
in future hold no feast ' whereat a villain's not a 
welcome guest,' and that Athens shall ' henceforth 
hated be of Timon, man, and all humanity ! ' 

Only after he has gone, do the visitors sneak back 
into the room to collect their belongings, marvelling 
over what they term Timon's madness, and fran- 
tically searching for the jewels which have fallen 
from their caps, some of which were bestowed upon 
them by Timon himself, who one day * gives us 
diamonds, next day stones.' 

Act IV. The fourth act opens outside the walls 
of Athens, just as Timon, leaving the city, gazes 
his last upon it, and curses it volubly, calling down 
every imaginable woe upon the place where he was 
once so happy, and whence he now flees in wrath, 
hoping ' his hate may grow to the whole race of 
mankind, high and low ! ' Leaving everything be- 
hind him, he intends to take refuge in the woods, 
1 where he shall find the unkindest beast more kinder 
than mankind.' 

We next behold a room in Timon's house, where 
Flavius sadly takes leave of his fellow-servants, all 
of whom bewail their master's departure and regret 
his friends should have shrunk away from him. One 



288 Stories of Shakespeare 1 f s Tragedies 

and all declare they would gladly do anything in 
their power for Timon, until the steward, touched 
by their devotion, assures them as long as he has 
anything left he will gladly share it with them. 
Exclaiming, ' thus part we rich in sorrow/ all em- 
brace and go, the steward murmuring he will fol- 
low Timon, who ' flung in rage from this ingrateful 
seat of monstrous friends.' He wishes to follow his 
master, because he knows Timon has taken noth- 
ing with him to maintain life, and resolves, ' I'll 
ever serve his mind with my best will ; whilst I have 
gold, I'll be his steward still.' 

We now view an abandoned spot near the sea- 
shore, in the midst of the woods, where Timon, 
issuing from a rude cave, blesses the sun, although in 
the same breath he accuses it of causing great harm 
on earth. He now has nothing but curses left to 
bestow upon mankind, and all he asks of earth is a 
few roots to sustain his failing strength. While dig- 
ging for them, Timon accidentally discovers a huge 
treasure of gold, which he vehemently curses, for 
he knows this metal brings nought but evil in the 
world! His eloquence in regard to the liarm gold 
can do is astounding, and he has just decided not to 
allow this treasure to be seen, lest it do more dam- 
age, and has barely covered it over, — reserving a 
part for his immediate needs, — when music is heard 
in the distance, which causes him to hurry. 

A moment later Alcibiades marches upon the 
scene, followed by an army of discontented men. He 
is flanked on either side by gay courtesans, and no 
sooner beholds the hermit than he eagerly enquires 



Timon of Athens 289 

who he may be? When Timon morosely rejoins 
he is one who hates mankind, Alcibiades exclaims 
in that case he should follow him! Timon, how- 
ever, refuses to do this, although he approves of 
Alcibiades' intentions, which are ' with man's blood ' 
to ' paint the ground.' On beholding the courtesans, 
Timon exchanges curses with them, ere Alcibiades 
enquires what he can do for him, for by this time he 
has recognised his former host. After wringing from 
Alcibiades a solemn promise to execute his wishes, 
Timon enjoins upon him to do all the harm he can 
to Athens and the world, and bids the courtesans 
also do their very worst. In order to help in what 
he terms this worthy undertaking, Timon, hearing 
they have only the slight funds which they gener- 
ously offer to share with him, lavishes upon them 
the gold he has found, hoping it will enable them 
to carry out their plans. But while loading Alci- 
biades and the courtesans with wealth, Timon ac- 
companies his gift with curses, suggesting all the 
harm they can do by means of these new subsidies. 
Delighted with having thus obtained new sinews for 
war, the troops go off to destroy Athens, while 
Timon accompanies their departing footsteps with a 
rumble of curses. 

When all have gone, Timon reverts to his dig- 
ging, as he is anxious to secure one poor root to sus- 
tain life; and he is still greedily gnawing this find, 
when the philosopher Apemantus joins him, stating 
he has heard Timon is following his example and 
living like a cynic. He enquires the meaning of the 
spade, and asks why Timon has withdrawn to this 



290 Stories of Shakespeare' s Tragedies 

remote place, giving vent meanwhile to many morose 
views. Finally he advises Timon to forego every- 
thing else, and turn flatterer, reminding him how his 
friends thus obtained rich gifts from him, and sug- 
gesting he might ' seek to thrive by that which has 
undone thee.' These suggestions prove unwelcome 
to Timon, who bids the philosopher begone and play 
the flatterer and knave if he will, declaring he him- 
self is too proud to do so and prefers to live on the 
roots he digs. In pity for Timon's fallen estate, 
the philosopher expresses compassion, until Timon 
assures him he has more gold than he can use. Even 
the philosopher now shows signs of toadying, and the 
conversation continues, until Timon, irritated by the 
philosopher's cynical remarks, drives him away by 
pelting him with stones, thus earning his curses 
also. 

Sick of the world, and feeling it time to prepare 
for death, Timon now decides to carve his own 
epitaph, so ' that death in me at others' lives may 
laugh.' Then, suddenly remembering his treasure, 
he again mentions it, his words being overheard by 
the philosopher, who has stolen back to spy upon 
him, and who decides to publish abroad that Timon 
has found a treasure ! 

Soon after, we behold some bandits, wondering 
how Timon can still have such stores of gold, and 
why in that case he lives in such a deserted spot? 
These thieves are, however, determined to obtain 
the treasure, and for that purpose cautiously ap- 
proach Timon, describing themselves as soldiers in 
want. When Timon bids them feed upon the roots 



Timon of Athens 291 

in the ground and the berries on the bushes, they re- 
tort it is impossible to thrive upon such things, so 
he gives them large sums of gold, adding curses to 
his gift, and bidding them continue their evil 
courses, robbing each other, cutting throats, and 
doing every harm they can think of. His curses 
and evil suggestions almost disgust the bandits with 
their trade, because ' 'tis in the malice of mankind ' 
never to wish to do what one is told. 

The bandits having gone, the steward enters, mur- 
muring his poor master must now be in a sorry 
plight, and hoping he can still serve him out of love. 
When Flavius addresses Timon, the latter pretends 
to have forgotten him ; and when the steward insists 
he is an honest poor servant of his, mutters he never 
had an honest man about him! Still, when Flavius 
actually weeps over his misfortunes, Timon is so 
touched that when his man offers him all he owns, 
he wonders how he did not sooner recognise the one 
honest man in his company. Nevertheless, he re- 
fuses the steward's offers, telling him that instead of 
receiving he can bestow upon him enough to make 
him rich. He then gives Flavius a large part of 
the treasure he has found, bitterly bidding him live 
rich and happy, and never show charity to any one, 
for no one will have pity upon him should he ever 
be in need. Although anxious to stay with his 
master and comfort him, Flavius is dismissed by 
Timon, with the injunction never to come again. 

Act V. The fifth act opens in the same forest, 
before Timon's cave, just as poet and painter draw 
near, remarking that Alcibiades and the two cour- 



292 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

tesans report their former patron still has wealth 
to bestow. They have also heard rumours of the 
fashion in which Timon has enriched stragglers and 
his steward, so come here in hopes that their 
Mecaenas will again lavish money upon them. Hid- 
den in the thicket, Timon overhears the hypocritical 
plot they are weaving to persuade him they have not 
forgotten him, but have come here merely to offer 
him their services. 

While the two artists are talking, Timon ex- 
presses his views in an aside, vowing he will sur- 
prise them presently by meeting them as if by acci- 
dent, and murmuring ' then do we sin against our 
own estate, when we may profit meet, and come too 
late.' A moment after, stealing around behind the 
bushes, he meets his visitors face to face, and when 
they greet him, pretends to be happy to see two hon- 
est men. When the painter and poet assure him 
they have come to offer their services and share his 
lot, he innocently enquires whether they can eat 
roots, and drink cold water? Hearing them vow 
they will do anything he wishes, Timon angrily turns 
upon them, saying he knows they have learned he 
is wealthy. Then, after a little more talk, instead 
of bestowing upon them some of the riches they are 
so anxious to receive, he informs them he has already 
given them gold enough, and drives them away with 
harsh blows. 

A little while later, Flavius draws near with two 
senators, assuring them it will be vain to apply to 
Timon, who no longer looks or acts like a man, and 
is not willing to be friends with any one. The sena- 



Timon of Athens 293 

tors, however, insist upon being led to the cave, and 
on reaching its entrance, summon Timon to come 
forth and speak to them. Issuing from this den 
with curses upon his lips, Timon is greeted by the 
senators, who inform him they have come hither to 
lead him back to the city, and there invest him 
with certain dignities, for they attribute all the mis- 
fortunes which have befallen Athens of late to the 
city's ingratitude toward him. 

Although Timon declares they surprise him, they 
insist upon his returning to Athens, vowing his mere 
presence will enable them to drive back Alcibiades, 
who is even now approaching, and who ' like a boar 
too savage, doth uproot his country's peace.' 

To this speech Timon rejoins he doesn't care 
if Alcibiades does kill his countrymen, sack fair 
Athens, and bring every imaginable woe upon its 
unfortunate people. He declares his sole occu- 
pation now consists in carving his epitaph, for he 
soon expects to die, as he feels his ' long sickness of 
health and living now begins to mend.' Mean- 
while, he cynically hopes Alcibiades will prove their 
plague and they his. Perceiving it is vain to try and 
persuade him further, the senators depart, Timon 
calling out after them that a tree still stands near 
his cave, where his friends can come and hang them- 
selves, if they like, ere it falls beneath his axe. Then, 
retiring into the cave, Timon watches the senators 
depart, convinced that their hopes in him are dead 
and that they will have to ' strain what other means 
is left unto us in our dear peril.' 

Before the walls of Athens two other senators 



294 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

meeting a messenger, eagerly enquire whether Alci- 
biades' troops are as formidable as has been declared, 
and whether Athens is really doomed? They are 
also anxious to know whether he has met the sena- 
tors despatched in quest of Timon, and are dismayed 
to learn that they have failed to bring him and that 
Alcibiades is near at hand. Then the senators ap- 
pear, vowing nothing is to be expected of Timon, 
and that their fall is near since the drums of the 
enemy can already be heard. 

We again return to the woods near Timon's cave, 
where only a rude tomb is now to be seen. A soldier, 
penetrating into this solitude to seek Timon, seems 
surprised to discover a tomb bearing a fresh in- 
scription. As he cannot read it, he decides to take 
its imprint in wax, so his captain Alcibiades, now 
besieging Athens, ' whose fall the mark of his am- 
bition is,' can interpret it for him. 

The rising curtain next reveals the walls of 
Athens, just as Alcibiades' trumpets announce his 
approach to the cowardly and lascivious town. At 
this martial summons, senators appear upon the 
walls, and Alcibiades arraigns them for their crimes. 
To placate his wrath they assure him every effort 
has been made to atone for former mistakes, and that 
they are now anxious to have him and Timon back in 
their midst. They add that it behooves him to show 
mercy, because few in town are guilty of offending 
him, and that the rest should be exempt from his 
wrath. In their terror, they offer to submit to any 
humiliation, provided he will enter their city in a 
friendly mood. Called upon to cast down his glove 



Timon of Athens 295 

in sign of consent, Alcibiades soon does so, and 
bids the Athenians throw open their gates. All he 
requires is that they shall surrender to him his own 
and Timon's foes; in exchange he promises to spare 
the rest. This decision satisfies the senators, who 
therefore descend to open the gates. 

Meantime, the soldier rushes up announcing to 
Alcibiades that Timon rests in a tomb close by the 
sea, and that on his grave stands an inscription whose 
waxen impression he produces. Alcibiades, there- 
upon reads aloud Timon's epitaph, which is, ' Here 
lies a wretched corse, of wretched soul bereft: seek 
not my name: a plague consume you wicked caitiffs 
left ! Here lie I, Timon ; who, alive, all living men 
did hate: pass by and curse thy fill, but pass and 
stay not here thy gait.' 

This grim epitaph convinces Alcibiades that his 
friend is dead, so, turning to the senators, he bids 
them lead him into the city, where he proposes to 
' use the olive with my sword, make war breed 
peace, make peace stint war, make each prescribe 
to other, as each other's leech.' Then he marches 
into the city, like a conqueror, in the midst of drum- 
beats ! 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA 

Act I. The prologue states that the scene is 
located in Troy, whither sixty-nine haughty Greek 
princes have gone to recover Helen, the kidnapped 
wife of Menelaus. The fight has lasted seven years 
when begins the play, which the prologue bids us 
' like or find fault ; do as your pleasures are : now 
good or bad, 'tis but the chance of war.' 

The first act opens in Troy, before the palace 
of Priam, where Troilus, one of his younger sons, 
talking to Pandarus, asks to be disarmed, and refuses 
to continue fighting without the gates while so cruel 
a conflict rages in his heart. When Pandarus en- 
quires whether the war shows no signs of ending, 
Troilus rejoins the Greeks are too strong to be 
routed, and that his mental conflict makes him 
1 weaker than a woman's tear.' He, therefore, pays 
little heed to his companion's speeches, most of which 
contain wearisome reiterations and the fussy asser- 
tion: I'll not meddle nor make no further.' 

When Pandarus finally suggests that Troilus, 
whose wishes he has been furthering, is too impa- 
tient, the youth rejoins he is patience incarnate, for, 
constantly thinking of Cressida, he has nevertheless 
disguised his feelings before his family. To pacify 
him, Pandarus admits his niece, although only the 
daughter of a renegade priest, surpasses Helen in 

296 



Troilus and Cressida 297 

beauty and Cassandra in wit. Like a true lover, 
Troilus then indulges in raptures about his lady- 
love, declaring her charms unparalleled. To set 
them forth he uses eloquent similes; Pandarus, by 
means of clever contradiction, meantime urging him 
on, until summoned away by trumpet-calls. 

Left alone, Troilus exclaims he longs to win Cres- 
sida's heart, and regrets he can find access to her 
only through Pandarus, who is ' as tetchy to be 
woo'd to woo, as she is stubborn-chaste against all 
suit.' Then he wonders whether Daphne seemed 
as fair to Apollo, and sentimentally compares his 
beloved to an Indian pearl, and her uncle to the 
vessel by means of which he hopes to reach her. 

Just then iEneas appears, asking why Troilus is 
not on the field of battle ? The young prince, after 
replying with a womanish ' because,' demands what 
news there is, only to be told Paris has been wounded 
by Menelaus. Then the trumpets sound again and 
iEneas, by exclaiming there is ' good sport out of 
town to-day,' entices Troilus to sally forth and take 
part in it. 

In a street of Troy we next behold Cressida, ask- 
ing her man-servant who are the two women hurry- 
ing past? She learns they are Hecuba and Helen, 
bound for a tower which commands the whole val- 
ley, from whence they can witness the battle. The 
servant adds that Hector, ' whose patience is, as a 
virtue, fixed,' proved strangely impatient to-day, for 
it is rumoured he chid his wife, and struck his 
armourer, ere he hastened off to the fray, undeterred 
by sundry omens of bad luck. When Cressida won- 



298 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

ders what caused the Trojan hero's anger, the serv- 
ant informs her that Ajax, who is ' as valiant as the 
lion,' ' as churlish as the bear,' and as ' slow as the 
elephant,' got the better of him the day before, and 
that since then, shame and rage have kept Hector 
' fasting and waking.' 

At this moment Pandarus joins his niece and, 
after dismissing her servant, enquires what they were 
discussing when he appeared? In reply, Cressida 
informs him Hector went in a rage to take part in 
the fray, and that Helen has not yet arisen. Know- 
ing the cause of Hector's rage, Pandarus fancies he 
will do great things to-day, but asserts ' Troilus will 
not come far behind him,' for he is anxious to interest 
Cressida in the latter's affairs. Pretending not to 
know whom he means, Cressida by her teasing, dis- 
paraging remarks, induces Pandarus to praise Troilus 
above Hector, Paris, and the rest. Next, she coaxes 
him to retail some racy court gossip, one item of 
which is Helen's witticism on discovering a white 
hair on Troilus' chin. Their mocking, suggestive 
conversation continues until the retreat sounds, caus- 
ing Pandarus to exclaim the warriors are returning 
so they can pass them in review. 

Anxious to behold so martial a sight, Cressida ac- 
companies him, and Pandarus points out to her the 
brave ^neas, the shrewd Antenor, the bloodstained 
Hector, the unwounded Paris; and, last of all, 
Troilus, whom he has repeatedly pronounced brav- 
est of all, although not yet twenty-three. With 
enthusiasm he calls her attention to his hero's bloody 
sword and hacked helmet, vowing ' Paris is dirt to 



Troikis and Cressida 299 

him; and, I warrant, Helen, to change, would give 
an eye to boot.' Then, as the bulk of the army files 
past, Pandarus contemptuously terms the soldiers 
' crows and daws,' and continues to chant Troilus' 
praises. 

They are busy discussing this youth, whom Cres- 
sida still affects to depreciate, when Troilus' page 
summons Pandarus to his master. Declaring he 
fears the young hero may be wounded, Pandarus 
hastens away, playfully promising to bring his niece 
a love-token from Troilus ere long. 

Left alone Cressida, who has betrayed lewdness 
in her conversation, declares she knows her uncle 
wishes to make a match between her and Troilus, 
and adds that, although she sees a thousand-fold 
more in the young hero ' than in the glass of Pan- 
dar's praise may be,' she is holding off, merely be- 
cause ' men prize the thing ungain'd more than it is.' 
Besides, she 1 deems ' that she was never yet that 
ever knew love got so sweet as when desire did sue.' 
Sure, therefore, that Troilus will appreciate her more 
if hard to obtain, she decides to disguise her real 
feelings, for ' women are angels, wooing,' but 
1 things won are done; joy's soul lies in the doing.' 

We are now transferred to the Greek camp, before 
Agamemnon's tent, just as he issues from it, telling 
his companions that the reason they are no nearer 
success at the end of seven years' warfare is lack 
of unity in their forces. The aged Nestor, who 
patiently listens to his long speech, answers it by 
one of equal length, ere Ulysses suggests to them 
both their ends can yet be secured. Asked to ex- 



30O Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

press himself freely, since he will not rail like 
Thersites, Ulysses cleverly expounds that there are 
many ' hollow factions ' in their party. Then he 
adds that, just as all things in the universe have 
their appointed place, harmony and unity should 
reign in their ranks. He vows the main trouble lies 
in the fact that each Greek wishes to be a leader, 
although ' take but degree away, untune that string, 
and, hark, what discord follows! ' He winds up his 
argument by stating • Troy in our weakness stands, 
not in her strength,' for he has proved that, had 
not the Greeks been divided, they would have tri- 
umphed long ago over their foes. 

Nestor readily agrees that Ulysses ' discover'd the 
fever whereof all our power is sick,' but when 
Agamemnon asks what remedy he would suggest, 
Ulysses rejoins that the divisions which have crept 
in among the Greeks are mainly due to the atti- 
tude of Achilles and of his men. Then, to stir 
up his hearers' resentment, he artfully describes how 
Achilles amuses his leisure by making his friend 
Patroclus mimic them all in turn. Resenting this 
mockery, Agamemnon and Nestor declare it is time 
to act, for many of the Greeks are about to desert 
them; and, deeming their policy mere cowardice, 
Ajax has grown self-willed and Thersites insolent. 

They have reached this point in the discussion 
when trumpet-blasts resound, heralding a deputation 
from Troy. At its head marches /^Eneas, who 
haughtily enquires for the Greek general's tent, 
demanding by what outward signs he can recog- 
nise Agamemnon, as he wishes to assume proper 



Troilus and Cressida 301 

demeanour in his presence. The chief of the Greeks, 
who has personally answered these questions, deem- 
ing them dictated by scorn, now retorts so haughtily 
that, discovering whom he addresses, iEneas requests 
a private interview. He is told, however, that his 
message will have to be proclaimed before the 
Greek host, as Agamemnon refuses all private com- 
munication with the foe. Bidding his trumpeter 
blow a loud blast, iEneas then proclaims that Hector 
challenges any Greek to single combat in honour 
of their lady-loves, and is ready to meet any cham- 
pion midway between the camps on the morrow. 

On hearing this, Agamemnon replies the challenge 
shall be made known to the Greeks, adding that 
should none respond he will do so himself. This 
assurance is echoed by the aged Nestor, who feels so 
sure Greek women surpass their Trojan sisters in 
attractions, that he is willing to ' prove this truth 
with my three drops of blood.' The bystanders, 
however, exclaim such a move will not be necessary, 
ere Agamemnon invites the Trojans to his tent to 
partake of refreshments, giving orders that /Eneas' 
proclamation be repeated through the camp. 

The scene being deserted by all save Ulysses and 
Nestor, the former draws his aged companion aside, 
to inform him he feels certain this challenge is in 
reality addressed to Achilles, although he has not 
been named. To shame this hero, sly Ulysses pro- 
poses to deprive him of all chance to accept Hector's 
challenge, and suggests that lots be drawn among 
the Greeks, it being cleverly arranged that Ajax 
shall meet the Trojan. The foe will naturally as- 



302 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

sume Ajax is the best Greek warrier; but, Ulysses 
sagely adds, ' if he fail, yet go we under our opinion 
still that we have better men.' Should Ajax win, 
however, Achilles will have suffered the double 
humiliation of having been passed over, and of see- 
ing an inferior warrior triumph over the very foe he 
has longed to conquer. Nestor sagely agrees to 
his statement, ' Ajax employ 'd plucks down Achilles' 
plumes,' ere he goes off to propose this subtle scheme 
to the other Greek chiefs. 

Act II. The second act opens in the Greek camp, 
just as Thersites, a professional joker, is making 
the rounds to repeat Eneas' proclamation. When 
he encounters Ajax, they exchange conundrums and 
witticisms, the latter soon assuming such acerbity 
that Ajax beats the messenger, who takes his re- 
venge in scurrilous abuse. After many words have 
been wasted, and while Ajax is striking Thersites for 
the third time, Achilles and Patroclus appear, en- 
quiring what this means. In angry tones, Thersites 
vows Ajax has no wit at all, wasting many words 
while making this statement and barely avoiding an- 
other chastisement. When he has gone, without 
having delivered his message, Achilles volunteers 
he has heard that Hector is challenging the Greeks 
to single combat on the morrow. Because Ajax 
eagerly asks who is their champion, Achilles rejoins 
it is to be decided by lottery, and departs with 
Patroclus, leaving Ajax to find out as best he can, 
more about the affair. 

The next scene is played in Priam's palace, at 
Troy, just as the aged king informs his sons how 



Troilus and Cressida 303 

Nestor has again summoned them to surrender 
Helen, and indemnify the Greeks for their losses 
during the past seven years. Although not in favour 
of yielding, Hector admits he never deemed it right 
to detain Helen, a statement which irritates Troilus, 
who opines that, having encouraged Paris, they 
should stand by him now. Besides, he deems his 
brother rash to weigh ' the worth and honour of a 
king so great as our dread father in a scale of 
common ounces,' or to declare Helen ' is not worth 
what she doth cost the holding.' 

They are still discussing this matter when Cas- 
sandra rushes on the stage, wailing that Paris, their 
' firebrand brother,' will destroy them all ! In her 
ravings she terms Helen their scourge, and predicts 
ruin, crying, ' Troy burns, or else let Helen go.' 
All present, save Hector, deeming her insane, con- 
sider these mere ' brain-sick raptures ;' still, all com- 
ment upon her remarks, until Paris exclaims it 
would be a shame to give up Helen ' on terms 
of base compulsion ! ' He declares ' well may we 
fight for her whom, we know well, the world's large 
spaces cannot parallel,' and thus determines them to 
continue the war. Wishing to prove he is not afraid, 
Hector explains he has sent a challenge to the Greeks, 
although he still insists that ' thus to persist in 
doing wrong extenuates not wrong, but makes it 
much more heavy.' 

We now return to the Greek camp, where Ther- 
sites is indulging in a monologue before Achilles' 
tent, in which he denounces Ajax for ill-treating 
him. In the midst of his railing, Patroclus and 



304 Stories of Shakespeare' s Tragedies 

Achilles join him, and begin a conversation bristling 
with witticisms and misunderstandings. In its 
course, Thersites demonstrates that the Greeks are 
fools to allow themselves to be ordered around by 
Agamemnon, and adds he is of opinion that should 
Troy not be taken until Patroclus and Achilles 
undermine it, its ' walls will stand till they fall by 
themselves.' After a while, wearying of this talk, 
Achilles returns to his tent, declaring he doesn't wish 
to see any one, while Thersites gleefully mutters he 
has set things in train by his railing! 

A moment after Thersites has departed, Agamem- 
non appears, asking for Achilles, whom Patroclus 
reports ill-disposed and in his tent. Hearing this, 
Agamemnon haughtily demands why Achilles re- 
fuses to receive his messengers, adding that he has 
laid aside his dignity to come in person and find 
out what this means. While Patroclus goes into the 
tent to summon his friend, Agamemnon's followers 
assure him Achilles is not ill, since they saw him at 
the door of the tent as they drew near. Ajax, who 
owes the hero a grudge for beguiling his fool Ther- 
sites away from him, now tries to set Agamemnon 
against Achilles, while Nestor and Ulysses whisper 
that his wrath is justifiable. Very soon Patroclus 
returns, saying his master hopes the chiefs have come 
merely for pleasure, and by way of exercise, as he 
is sorry not to be able to receive them. Declaring 
they must see Achilles, Agamemnon again demands 
admittance, and when Patroclus departs to carry 
this message, sends Ulysses after him to ask for a 
personal interview. 



Troilus and Cressida 305 

Meantime, Ajax urges Agamemnon to show some 
pride until the chief testily reminds him ' he that is 
proud eats up himself.' They are arguing this point 
when Ulysses returns, reporting that Achilles refuses 
to go into battle on the morrow, but will give no 
other excuse save his pleasure. Hearing this, 
Agamemnon suggests that Ajax try and mollify the 
hero, a suggestion Ulysses combats, claiming such a 
move would only increase Achilles' pride. His 
arguments are approved by Nestor and Diomedes, 
who shrewdly note their effect, not only upon 
Agamemnon, but also upon the vain Ajax, who is 
moved thereby to loud boasting. Then, as pre- 
arranged, under pretence of calming Ajax's fury, 
the three sarcastically urge him on until the foolish 
fellow accompanies them to the council, worked up 
to the right pitch to serve as their tool. The act, 
therefore, closes with Agamemnon's oracular, 
' Light boats sail swift, though greater hulks draw 
deep.' 

Act III. The third act opens in the palace of 
Priam, where Pandarus enquires of a servant 
whether he is not a follower of Paris? After some 
witty remarks the servant admits he is, and reveals 
the fact that the music they hear is played in Helen's 
honour. Hearing the adjectives he lavishes upon 
Helen, Pandarus suggests they would better fit his 
niece Cressida, ere he states he has a message from 
Troilus to Paris. Just then Paris and Helen 
enter, and after exchanging remarks with him which 
smack far more of Elizabethan than Homeric times, 
try to induce him to sing. Although coy, Pandarus 



306 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

finally yields to persuasions and all comment upon 
his selection. Presently, Paris mentions the fact 
that Helen would not let him go out to-day, and 
asks why Troilus is not in the fray. When Pan- 
darus has gone, he informs Helen that since she 
detained him from the battle-field, she must go with 
him and watch the warriors return home, personally 
disarming the brave Hector, a feat no enemy has 
ever been able to compass. 

The curtain next rises on Pandarus' orchard, 
where, strolling about, he enquires of a servant where 
Troilus may be. The lad rejoins his master is wait- 
ing for Pandarus to conduct him to his niece Cres- 
sida, just as Troilus comes upon the scene. Then, 
the boy having withdrawn, Troilus confesses he has 
been stalking about his beloved's door ' like a strange 
soul upon the Stygian banks staying for waftage,' 
and implores Pandarus to play the part of Charon 
and conduct him to his niece, an office the uncle 
is only too ready to perform. He suggests, however, 
that Troilus await the lady in this orchard, and 
while he goes to fetch her, the youth soliloquises that 
if ' the imaginary relish is so sweet that it enchants 
my sense,' he can not imagine what realisation will 
be! In fact, he thinks it 'some joy too fine, too 
subtle-potent, tun'd too sharp in sweetness, for the 
capacity of my ruder powers.' Just then Pandarus 
returns, announcing his niece will soon be here, and 
bidding Troilus show his wit when she appears, en- 
couraging him by describing the emotion she showed. 

A moment later he introduces Cressida to Troilus, 
urging them to kiss without further ado, and leaves 



Troilus and Cressida 3°7 

them after uttering sundry facetious remarks in bad 
taste. Speechless at first, Troilus soon finds his 
tongue and begins a love dialogue, in which Cres- 
sida, with pretended innocence, invites him into the 
house. Before Troilus can comply with her invita- 
tion, Pandarus returns, still joking on their love- 
affairs in a lewd way. Pretending to be emboldened 
by his presence, Cressida confesses she has long loved 
Troilus, and has frequently wished she were a man 
so as to have the privilege of speaking first. Then, 
affecting to consider she has been too bold, she 
bashfully exclaims ' see, your silence, cunning in 
dumbness, from my weakness draws my very soul of 
counsel ! ' In her confusion, she declares Troilus 
should stop her mouth, which he does with a kiss, to 
her simulated dismay. 

In the course of his conversation with Cressida, 
Troilus questions whether it is within woman's 
power to remain faithful, while she declares that, 
' to be wise and love exceeds man's might!' He 
vows that his own feelings are such that hereafter 
his name will be a synonym for fidelity, whereupon 
Cressida assures him that, in case she proves faith- 
less, she is willing people should adopt the term 
* as false as Cressida.' This talk so charms Pan- 
darus that he invites the lovers into the house, 
vowing after he has taken such pains to bring 
them together, that he is willing all ' pitiful goers- 
between ' should be called by his name ! Then, he 
urges them to retire, and the curtain falls upon his 
lascivious valediction. 

We are next transferred to the Greek camp before 



308 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

Achilles' tent, where Calchas, addressing Agamem- 
non and the other chiefs, claims in return for his 
services, that their prisoner, Antenor, be exchanged 
for his daughter Cressida, who still remains in Troy. 
This request is immediately granted by Agamem- 
non, who bids Diomedes undertake the embassy, 
bringing word, besides, whether Hector will consent 
to meet Ajax. After Diomedes has gone with 
Calchas, Achilles is seen at the door of his tent 
with Patroclus. Speaking to the rest, Ulysses sug- 
gests they disappoint this hero by marching past him 
with careless or cold greetings. He decides to pass 
last, knowing Achilles will stop him to ascertain 
the cause for so discourteous behaviour. The fact 
that ' pride hath no other glass to show itself but 
pride,' makes all present agree to this plan, and, one 
after another file past Achilles, greeting him care- 
lessly, although he assumes they are coming to visit 
him and urge him to fight against Troy. Watching 
them out of sight, Achilles marvels at such be- 
haviour, which Patroclus wonderingly compares with 
their former obsequiousness, until, his pride up in 
arms, the hero vows ' 'tis certain, greatness, once 
fall'n out with fortune, must fall out with men too,' 
and decides to question Ulysses, who draws near 
reading a letter. 

When Achilles, after some preliminaries, suspi- 
ciously asks whether his companions ' find out some- 
thing not worth in me such rich beholding as they 
have often given,' Ulysses pretends not to under- 
stand him, and replies Ajax is to meet Hector in the 
coming fight. Learning thus that he is passed over 



Troihis and Cressida 309 

' as misers do by beggars,' Achilles becomes so in- 
dignant that Ulysses coolly reminds him ' Time 
hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, wherein he puts 
alms for oblivion,' thus giving him plainly to under- 
stand how, by his conduct, he has forfeited the 
respect of many among the Greeks. In his speech 
occur many fine lines, including the statements that 
* perseverance keeps honour bright,' ' one touch of 
nature makes the whole world kin,' and that ' since 
things in motion sooner catch the eye than what not 
stirs,' Achilles is no longer their cynosure. Then he 
further hints that they have discovered he is court- 
ing one of Priam's daughters, a proceeding the young 
son he left at home will sorely mourn, as he will 
also to hear that Ajax had the honour of defeating 
Hector in his father's stead. 

Ulysses having departed, Patroclus suggests 
Achilles must rouse himself if he does not wish to 
be set aside. The one thing Achilles cannot bear 
is the fact that Ajax will meet Hector; yet, since 
this is fixed, he decides to send the fool Thersites 
to Ajax, asking that, after the combat, the Trojan 
lords may sup in his tent. Just then Thersites 
enters, reporting Ajax so elated at the thought of 
fighting Hector that it looks as if he would break 
his neck ' in vain-glory.' Interrupting his tirade, 
Achilles bids him carry his message, after making 
him repeat it to make sure he will deliver it straight. 
As he goes out, Achilles exclaims c my mind is 
troubled, like a fountain stirr'd; and I myself see 
not the bottom of it,' while the fool ardently hopes 
his mind will soon clear, exclaiming contemptuously, 



310 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

* I had rather be a tick in a sheep than such a 
valiant ignorance.' 

Act IV. The fourth act opens in a street in 
Troy, where Paris beholds iEneas bearing a torch. 
After rallying him on being up so early, and telling 
him that with so lovely a companion he should 
not leave her so soon, iEneas explains he is escorting 
Diomedes into the city to exchange Cressida for 
Antenor. 

On meeting the Greek Diomedes, iEneas bids 
him welcome ' during all question of the gentle 
truce ; but when I meet you arm'd, as black defiance 
as heart can think or courage execute.' Then, learn- 
ing Diomedes' errand, and knowing Troilus has 
spent this night with Cressida, he fancies his kinsman 
would rather ' Troy were borne to Greece, than 
Cressid borne from Troy.' Because Paris states 
they have no choice save to obey, they pass on, Paris 
conceitedly enquiring of Diomedes whom he con- 
siders worthier of Helen, himself or Menelaus ? To 
this Diomedes contemptuously remarks that neither 
seems hard to please, since both make no l scruple 
of her soilure.' When Paris pronounces him too 
bitter toward his countrywoman, Diomedes retorts 
she has been bitter to her country, ' every false 
drop ' in her veins having cost a Greek his life, and 
' every scruple of her contaminated carrion weight ' 
the fall of a Trojan. To this Paris rejoins Diomedes 
is acting like a chapman, dispraising the very thing 
he desires to buy, ere both go off to fulfil their 
errands. 

The curtain next rises in the house of Pandarus, 



Troilus and Cressida 311 

where Troilus and Cressida are seen, the lover im- 
ploring his lady not to accompany him further, but 
to return to bed and sleep. When he declares the 
larks are singing, Cressida claims the night has been 
all too brief, and that she might perchance have 
induced him to tarry longer, had she not yielded so 
readily to his entreaties. Just then her uncle ap- 
pears and she simpers he will surely tease them, 
expectations duly fulfilled, for Pandarus indulges in 
sundry coarse jokes. His remarks are, however, an- 
swered in kind by Cressida, who continues this 
bantering talk with him until the sound of a knock 
causes her to draw her lover into an inner room, for 
she doesn't wish him to be seen. 

On opening the door, Pandarus discovers .ZEneas, 
and when he enquires for Troilus, wonders with 
pretended innocence that any one should seek that 
prince here. .ZEneas, however, insists upon seeing 
his kinsman, as he has an important message to de- 
liver; so Troilus, who has been listening, steps for- 
ward asking what he wants? Compassionately, 
iEneas answers that Paris is coming with Diomedes, 
who has arrived in Troy to exchange Antenor for 
Cressida. Unable to believe this, until assured it has 
been decided in solemn council, Troilus, struck to 
the heart, declares he will go and meet the mes- 
sengers, and bids iEneas reveal to no one where he 
was. Assuring him ' the secrets of nature have not 
more gift in taciturnity,' ^Eneas leads him out to 
meet Diomedes, while Pandarus curses Antenor, 
wishing he had broken his neck, for he opines this 
separation will drive Troilus mad. 



312 Stories of Shakespeare' s Tragedies 

Just then Cressida enters, and noticing her uncle's 
dejection, demands its cause. When she finally hears 
her father is claiming her, she passionately declares 
she will not leave Troy, for she has forgotten all 
ties save the one which binds her to her lover, whom 
her absence will slay. Her uncle, however, assures 
her she will have to obey, whereupon she protests 
all her time henceforth will be spent in sobs and 
tears ! 

The next scene is played in the street in front of 
Pandarus' house, where Paris declares the hour has 
come to surrender Cressida, and bids Troilus go in 
and prepare her for their coming. In return Troilus 
promises to deliver the damsel with his own hand, 
although it will seem as if he were leading a victim 
to the altar. He has no sooner vanished in the 
house than Paris remarks that knowing what it 
is to love, he wishes he could help his brother in 
some way. 

We now return to the interior of Pandarus' house, 
just as he is urging his niece to moderate her grief, 
and is being chidden for such advice, as her ' love 
admits no qualifying dross.' Just then Troilus 
enters and is rapturously embraced by Cressida, Pan- 
darus watching this demonstration while mockingly 
quoting the lines of a popular play which he pre- 
tends to admire. Telling Cressida he loves her so 
dearly the gods are taking her from him, Troilus in- 
forms her she will have to leave Troy, and their 
parting is near at hand. His eloquent farewell 
speech is interrupted by Eneas' call for the lady, 
a summons Troilus considers equivalent to a death 



Troilus and Cressida 313 

sentence. To enable the lovers to exchange parting 
words, Pandarus hurries out to try and delay mat- 
ters a trifle. Meantime, Cressida enquires whether 
she must go, and learns there is no way to refuse 
compliance, while Troilus implores her to be true 
to him, promising to bribe the Greek sentries so as 
to visit her some night. He is ready to * grow friends 
with danger ' for her sake, and so repeatedly enjoins 
upon her to be faithful that she resents it, saying 
there is no inclination to anything else in her heart. 
Then they exchange tokens, she giving him a glove, 
and he bestowing upon her a sleeve, although j^Eneas 
and Pandarus repeatedly call upon them to part. 

Because they do not obey, the deputation finally 
enters, and Troilus, while presenting Diomedes to 
Cressida, warns him that unless he treats her in a 
satisfactory manner, his life will be forfeit! Grace- 
fully greeting his charge, Diomedes assures her she 
will have fair treatment, looking so admiringly upon 
her the while that he rouses Troilus' jealousy to 
such a pitch that he haughtily declares this lady ' is 
as far high-soaring o'er thy praises as thou unworthy 
to be call'd her servant.' To this remark Diomedes 
truculently rejoins that, although willing to respect 
the lady, he is quite ready to answer a challenge. 
Troilus, perceiving the moment of parting has come, 
takes Cressida's hand to lead her to the gate, and all 
march out in the midst of trumpet-blasts, the hour 
having come when Hector is to sally forth to fight 
Ajax. For this reason ^Eneas remarks, as they pass 
out, ' the glory of our Troy doth this day lie on his 
fair worth and single chivalry.' 



314 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

We now behold the Greek camp, where Ajax, 
fully armed for the coming encounter, is receiving 
Agamemnon's last directions. Hearing trumpet- 
calls, Ajax fancies they summon him, until the rest 
assure him they merely announce the return of Dio- 
medes with Calchas' daughter. A moment later, 
the procession appears, so stepping forward Agamem- 
non greets Cressida by embracing her, a privilege 
all the leaders insist upon sharing. In fact, the 
bold Patroclus claims two kisses, one for Menelaus 
and one for himself, while the lady answers all their 
polite, jesting remarks in a similar vein. When she 
has passed on, Nestor pronounces her a woman of 
quick sense, but Ulysses shrewdly remarks ' her 
wanton spirits look out at every joint and motive 
of her body.' They are still discussing her when 
the Trojan trumpets are heard and Hector appears. 

Acting as spokesman, .ZEneas asks the Greeks the 
terms of the fight, whereupon Agamemnon rejoins 
it will be as Hector wishes. Hearing this, Achilles 
gives vent to so scornful a comment that /Eneas 
demands who he is, only to receive the haughty an- 
swer ' if not Achilles, nothing.' It is now decided 
that, since Hector and Ajax are kin, the fight shall 
not be carried to extreme lengths, but will be 
limited ' either to the uttermost or else a breath.' 
The two champions and their seconds then enter the 
lists, Ulysses and Agamemnon commenting upon 
their appearance, while bestowing considerable atten- 
tion upon Troilus, whom they pronounce ' manly as 
Hector, but more dangerous.' 

When the battle begins, the spectators call out all 



Troilus and Cressida 315 

manner of encouragement to the champions on either 
side, until the breathing time comes when Ajax, vow- 
ing he is not even warm, wishes to renew the fight, 
but Hector declines to do so, in a speech wherein he 
offers, instead, to embrace his foe. This proposal is 
graciously received by Ajax, although he boasts he 
has come hither intending to kill his opponent, and 
thus * bear hence a great addition earned in thy 
death.' After some conversation between both par- 
ties, Hector is escorted by Ajax to the banquet in 
Achilles' tent, amid an exchange of compliments. 

Troilus and Ulysses remaining alone upon the 
scene, the Trojan prince seizes this opportunity to 
enquire the locality of Calchas' tent, begging Ulysses 
to guide him thither. After stating it lies next that 
of Menelaus, Ulysses adds that he is entertaining 
Diomedes, ' who neither looks upon the heaven nor 
earth, but gives all gaze and bent of amorous view 
on the fair Cressid.' Then Ulysses enquires what 
was this lady's reputation in Troy, and whether she 
had a lover, only to be informed ' she was beloved, 
she loved; she is, and doth: but still sweet love is 
food for fortune's tooth.' 

Act V. The fifth act opens on the Grecian camp 
before Achilles' tent, while he is discussing with 
Patroclus the gorgeous feast he means to give 
Hector. Just then Thersites draws near, and he 
and his new master indulge in a war of wit, ere the 
fool delivers a letter he brings from Hecuba. 
While Achilles peruses it, Patroclus and the fool 
banter each other. Then Achilles withdraws to 
trim his tent, and Thersites, left alone, indulges in a 



3 16 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

soliloquy, wherein he derides this ' petticoat war ' 
and those who take part in it. 

Upon this scene enter Hector and Troilus, led by 
Agamemnon and the other Greek chiefs, who are 
trying to find their way through the dark camp. 
Even the Greeks are doubtful of their bearings, so it 
is only when Achilles appears at the door of his tent 
that Agamemnon and Menelaus take leave of the 
Trojans, who are to partake of the feast. Mean- 
while, Ulysses noticing that Diomedes is excusing 
himself, whispers to Troilus, that if he follows this 
recreant's course, he will soon arrive at Calchas' tent. 
Heeding this advice, Troilus trails Diomedes, while 
Ulysses goes with him to witness the outcome of the 
affair. During this time, Achilles invites his guest 
into his tent, but Thersites, vowing Diomedes is 
a ' false-hearted rogue,' who has fallen in love with 
Cressida, decides to follow and see what befalls. 

We next behold Calchas' tent, at the moment when 
Diomedes arrives there, begging for admittance. 
Calchas answers from within that his daughter will 
soon appear, a remark overheard by Troilus and 
Ulysses, who have taken their stand at a point of 
vantage, but are unconscious that Thersites has crept 
close to them in the dark to watch what is going on. 
Bidding his companion stand so the torch light will 
not fall upon him, Ulysses admonishes Troilus to be 
silent when Cressida appears. While she whispers to 
Diomedes, therefore, Troilus, Ulysses, and Thersites 
comment upon this meeting, the lover betraying 
jealousy, Ulysses curiosity, and Thersites a cynical 
estimate of man and womankind. From his hiding- 



Troilns and Cressida 317 

place, Troflus perceives how readily Cressida re- 
sponds to the admiration of another lover, and 
jealously notes every caress she bestows upon him. 
His anger reaches a culminating point, however, 
when Diomedes persuades her to go back into the 
tent to procure him a love-token. Seeing his anger 
Ulysses tries to lead him away, but Troilus lingers 
until he sees Cressida bestow upon her new lover the 
very token he gave her when they parted. Then, 
with coquettish arts, she tries to recover it, but 
Diomedes retaining possession of it, declares he will 
wear it upon his cap, so the Trojan who bestowed it 
upon her can challenge him on the morrow. Hear- 
ing this boast, Troilus swears that, even were he the 
devil, he would challenge him! After lingering 
good-nights, Diomedes and Cressida part, but 
scarcely has her new lover gone, than Cressida 
sentimentally exclaims ' Troilus, farewell ! One eye 
yet looks on thee; but with my heart the other eye 
doth see.' When she adds that ' minds sway'd by 
eyes are full of turpitude,' Ulysses agrees and tries 
to comfort Troilus, who positively raves in his 
anger at Diomedes. 

At this juncture iEneas appears, vowing he has 
been seeking them for some time past, and that Hec- 
tor has gone back to Troy to arm. Bidding Ulysses 
farewell, Troilus goes away heart-broken, while 
Thersites, left alone on the stage, declares he will 
hasten to notify Patroclus how easily Cressida can 
be won, for he knows this hero is a lover of fair but 
false dames. 

In front of Priam's palace, we next behold An- 



3 1 8 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

dromache, telling Hector she has been troubled by a 
bad dream, and hence doesn't wish him to fight to- 
day. He has just refused to listen to her, pronounc- 
ing dreams folly, when Cassandra issues from the 
palace, and is asked by Andromache to help her 
detain Hector at home. Troubled by apprehensions, 
too, Cassandra mentions the evils threatening her 
brother, who, nevertheless, decides that he will have 
to go, since a ' brave man holds honour far more 
precious-dear than life.' Hearing this, Andromache 
bids Cassandra summon Priam to help them, just 
as Troilus comes up to ask his brother's permission 
to join in the fray, for he, too, has wrongs to avenge. 
Because Hector is determined to fight alone, his 
brother urges him to be off, vowing women could not 
detain him in this idle fashion. 

Meanwhile, Cassandra has fetched the aged 
Priam, who clings to his son, calling him his prop 
and that of Troy, and declaring that should he 
fall all would be lost. Although Andromache, 
Priam, and Cassandra unite in eloquent entreaties. 
Hector proves obdurate, and finally banishes his wife 
into the house. But when he turns to reprove his 
sister, she utters a prophecy in regard to the woe 
in Troy when the news of his death is made known. 
After comforting his aged father, who is deeply im- 
pressed by the women's fears, Hector craves his 
blessing and bids him farewell, while Troilus mutters 
he longs for nothing so keenly as to encounter Dio- 
medes, since he has sworn to lose his arm or recover 
his token ! It is at this moment that Pandarus brings 
him a letter from Cressida, which Troilus tears up 



Troilus and Cressida 319 

after reading, contemptuously declaring it contains 
'words, words, mere words, no matter from the 
heart,' and bitterly adding, ' my love with words and 
errors still she feeds; but edifies another with her 
deeds.' 

The scene is now transferred to a plain between 
Troy and the Grecian camp, where fighting is going 
on, and where Thersites reports both parties ' are 
clapper-clawing ' one another. Taking no part in 
the fray himself, he nevertheless exults in every 
quarrel, and watches for encounters between Dio- 
medes and Troilus, and sundry others. He is just 
declaring that the policy of Nestor and Ulysses has 
proved worthless, when Diomedes passes across the 
stage closely pursued by Troilus, who insults him, 
and with whom he exchanges uncomplimentary re- 
marks. A moment after they have passed out of 
sight fighting, Hector rushing in, offers to fight 
Thersites, who excuses himself in cowardly wise as 
1 a very filthy rogue,' unworthy to encounter a hero. 

In another part of the plain we next behold Dio- 
medes, directing his servants to present Troilus' 
horse, — which he has just captured, — to Cressida. 
He is soon joined by Agamemnon, who reports sun- 
dry victories, enumerating some of the great deeds 
which have been performed. Then Nestor calls 
out that Patroclus' body is about to be taken to 
Achilles, bidding ' snail-paced Ajax arm for shame,' 
as a thousand Hectors await him on the field. Join- 
ing these two, Ulysses reports how Achilles, having 
heard of Patroclus' death, is now on the battle- 
field, where Hector can be seen ' here, there, and 



320 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

everywhere! ' Having lost a friend also, Ajax rages 
against Troilus, and crosses the stage calling loudly 
for his foe. But, just after Diomedes has pointed 
out to him the direction in which Troilus has gone, 
Achilles rushes across the scene, demanding Hector, 
the one foe he is anxious to meet. 

In another part of the plain we next behold Ajax 
and Diomedes, both calling for Troilus, whom they 
wish to correct. The two Greeks are quarrelling 
which shall have the privilege of fighting Troilus 
when he appears, and the question remains unsettled 
as he passes off the stage, warding off a double 
attack. 

We next hear Hector approvingly mentioning 
Troilus' conduct, just as Achilles proposes a fight. 
But, as his armour is out of order Achilles hurries 
off to remedy this defect, promising Hector shall 
soon hear from him again. This news Hector 
welcomes, although he cannot help wishing he were 
fresher to encounter such a foe. Just then Troilus 
appears, announcing Ajax has taken iEneas, whom he 
proposes to deliver at the cost of his life. A moment 
later, a Greek, in handsome armour, is challenged 
by Hector, who, boasting that armour will soon be 
his, hotly pursues its wearer. 

In another part of the plain, Achilles calls to his 
Myrmidons to follow him into battle, and form 
a circle around Hector wherever they find him, so 
he cannot escape, but must pause and answer his 
challenge. They have barely vanished when Mene- 
laus and Paris are seen fighting, Thersites mean- 
while sarcastically commenting that Helen's two hus- 



Troilus and Cressida 321 

bands are now at swords' points. His scurrilous 
comments are, however, soon interrupted by the ar- 
rival of a Trojan, who no sooner attacks him than 
he cravenly flees. 

In another part of the plain, — after winning the 
goodly armour he covets, — Hector sits down to rest, 
dropping his sword, removing his helmet, and hang- 
ing up his shield behind him. While he is thus 
disarmed, Achilles and his Myrmidons come upon 
the scene, exclaiming that just as night is falling, 
Hector's life ' even with the vail and darking of 
the sun,' is nearly done. Vainly the Trojan hero 
protests he is unarmed; Achilles attacks him, and 
as soon as Hector falls, bids his men proclaim aloud 
' Achilles hath the mighty Hector slain.' Because 
the retreat then sounds, Achilles sheathes his sword, 
which ' pleased with this dainty bait, thus goes to 
bed,' and bids his men bind Hector's body to his 
horse's tail, cruelly adding, ' along the field I will 
the Trojan trail.' 

Elsewhere Ajax enquires the cause of all this 
shouting, and hearing Achilles has slain Hector, 
rejoices. He feels that with Hector dead, ' great 
Troy is ours, and our sharp wars are ended,' but 
declares it does not become the Greeks to boast, 
since Hector was fully as good a man as Achilles. 
At another spot, j^Eneas informs the Trojans they 
are masters of the field, just as Troilus rushes up 
to proclaim Hector's death. His hearers seem in- 
credulous, until Troilus assures them the news is 
only too true, for Achilles is even now dragging the 
august corpse around the city. After Troilus' speech 



322 Stories of Shakespeare' s Tragedies 

in praise of Hector, — whose death will bring con- 
sternation not only into Troy, but into the hearts 
of his kindred, — /Eneas leads his forces off the 
stage. 1 

A moment later, seeing Pandarus pass, Troilus 
exclaims, ' hence, broker-lackey ! ignomy and shame 
pursue thy life, and live aye with thy name ! ' and 
hastens away. When he has gone, Pandarus sighs 
that his trade is always ill-requited, and brazenly 
claims the public's applause because he intends to 
give it up after bequeathing his diseases to his 
victims. 

1 For the classic story of the Siege of Troy, see Guer- 
ber'sv 4 Myths of Greece and Rome.' 



PERICLES 

Act I. An actor reciting the prologue before 
the palace at Antioch, tells us this is a new version 
of an old Greek story, which has often entertained 
the public, and which relates how Antiochus the 
Great, founder of this city, became guilty of incest, 
and compelled all who came to sue for his daugh- 
ter's hand to solve a riddle on that unsavory sub- 
ject or forfeit their lives. 

The first scene represents the palace, at the mo- 
ment when the king is receiving Pericles, Prince of 
Tyre, who has come hither to woo the beautiful 
princess. After questioning whether he is willing to 
risk all and is aware of the terrible penalty, the 
king allows Pericles to behold the dazzling beauty of 
his daughter, which causes the new candidate for her 
favour to exclaim he realises the perils of the task 
but is ready to venture all for her sweet sake. After 
a little more conversation, intended to deter him 
from so rash a venture, Pericles induces Antiochus 
to propound the riddle, saying, ' like a bold cham- 
pion, I assume the lists, nor ask advice of any 
thought but faithfulness and courage.' 

The enigma given him is framed in such oracular 
style that previous solvers have all lost their lives. It 
does not, however, baffle the superior intelligence of 
Pericles, who, on discovering its horrible purport, 

323 



324 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

betrays such dismay in his changed countenance and 
in the gasping cry that he no longer aspires to the 
princess' hand, that Antiochus, wishing to ascertain 
whether his secret has really been guessed, forces 
him to give an answer. Driven thus to bay, the 
Prince of Tyre replies in so guarded a manner that 
only the criminals realise he has solved their riddle. 
Muttering in an aside that he will have this bold 
guesser's life, Antiochus remarks aloud that, although 
he could pass immediate judgment and retrench 
Pericles' life for failure, he means to grant him a 
respite of forty days, during which time he can 
think the matter over, and be entertained as ' doth 
befit our honour and your worth.' 

All going out after this statement, the unfortu- 
nate Pericles is left alone, and we overheat him 
bitterly commenting upon his ghastly discovery, and 
hotly reviling the criminals, whom he compares to 
serpents. Then, fearing lest they may murder him 
should he remain, Pericles suddenly decides ' by 
flight I'll shun the danger which I fear,' and hastens 
away. 

He has barely gone when Antiochus enters the 
apartment, wondering how he can slay this bold 
prince, and thus prevent his publishing abroad his 
shameful discovery. When joined by his confidant, 
Antiochus bribes this man with gold and the promise 
of advancement to poison the Prince of Tyre. His 
confidant is about to depart to execute these orders 
when a messenger rushes in, reporting that Pericles 
has fled! Bidding his confidant hasten after the 
fugitive like an ' arrow shot from a well-experienced 



Pericles 325 

archer,' and not return until he can report him dead, 
Antiochus hears him use this queer anachronism, ' if 
I can get him within my pistol's length, I'll make 
him sure enough: so, farewell to your highness.' 

We are next transferred to a room in the palace 
of Tyre, where Pericles, just arrived from Antioch, 
is explaining that since his discovery of Antiochus' 
guilty secret, he has not enjoyed a moment's peace, 
but constantly dreads being pursued and slain by this 
implacable foe. While he is talking, his chief friend, 
Helicanus, escorted by some Tyrian lords, comes to 
welcome him home. Greeting them kindly, the 
prince soon begs to be left alone with his friend, 
whom he wishes to consult on matters of state, and 
then, only, reveals to Helicanus his discovery of 
Antiochus' incest, his flight, and fear lest vengeance 
may be wreaked upon Tyre. Pericles vows that this 
' drew sleep out of mine eyes, blood from my cheeks, 
musings into my mind, with thousand doubts how 
I might stop this tempest ere it came.' That such 
fears are not vain, Helicanus keenly realises, since 
he advises Pericles to go away and travel, meanwhile 
entrusting the government of Tyre to some one 
else. He vows that, should that charge be confided 
to him, ' day serves not light more faithful than I'll 
be.' Hearing which, Pericles decides to sail imme- 
diately for Tarsus, where he directs Helicanus to 
write and keep him posted how things are pro- 
gressing. 

Shortly after, in an antechamber of the same 
palace, we behold the arrival of the confidant of 
Antiochus, who gazes fearfully around him, murmur- 



326 Stories of Shakespeare* s Tragedies 

ing he has come here to kill the prince, and must 
either fulfil this task or be slain on his return home. 
All at once Helicanus enters with some other lords, 
and the confidant learns from their conversation 
how Pericles, having been so unfortunate as to incur 
Antiochus' displeasure, has banished himself from 
Tyre for a time, leaving its rule to Helicanus, and 
has gone to sea as a species of penance. Unable to 
reach his prey, yet sure Pericles will perish at sea, 
the confidant resolves to go back to Antioch and an- 
nounce his death. This decision taken, he presents 
himself to the Tyrians, saying he had a message for 
Pericles which he perceives he will not be able to 
deliver. He accepts, however, the invitation they 
extend and feasts with them ere he returns home. 

We now behold a room in the governor's house, 
at Tarsus, where Cleon, the governor, is sadly re- 
marking to his wife, Dionyza, that their woes have 
reached their culminating point, for the city has so 
long been a prey to famine that the inhabitants are 
reduced to the last extremity. No grief ever 
equalled theirs, Dionyza assures him, while she re- 
jects his suggestion to forget her sufferings in sleep. 
Both mourn that a city, once so prosperous, should 
now be in such dire straits, that even cases of can- 
nibalism have occurred! 

They are still talking, when a lord rushes in re- 
porting that a vessel under full sail is bearing 
straight down upon the city in a threatening way. 
Sadly convinced that ' one sorrow never comes but 
brings an heir, that may succeed as his inheritor,' 
Cleon fancies this vessel is laden with foes about 



Pericles 327 

to capture his defenceless city. His fears are slightly 
allayed, however, when the messenger states white 
flags float from its masthead, although these peace- 
ful tokens may be mere feigning, for he ' who makes 
the fairest show means most deceit.' After bidding 
the lord ascertain as soon as possible the intentions 
of the newcomers in regard to the stricken city, 
Cleon anxiously awaits further developments. 

A few moments later the same lord ushers in 
Pericles, who declares he has come here in a friendly 
spirit, having learned at Tyre that Tarsus was suf- 
fering from famine. Instead of hostile forces his 
ship is laden with provisions, which will ' give them 
life whom hunger starved half dead.' These joyful 
tidings cause delirious joy among the Tarsians, and 
Cleon gratefully assures Pericles they will never for- 
get his timely help. In reply to an invitation to 
tarry with them, Pericles promises to ' feast here a 
while, until our stars that frown lend us a smile.' 

Act II. The second act also opens with a pro- 
logue by the actor, recapitulating all that has al- 
ready occurred, and describing how the inhabitants 
of Tarsus have gratefully erected a statue in honour 
of their benefactor Pericles. Then the curtain rises, 
and in dumbshow we behold Pericles entering by one 
door, apparently talking to Cleon and his train. 
Through another door appears a gentleman, who 
hands a letter to Pericles, which he soon passes on 
to Cleon, who rewards the bearer by knighting him. 
Then we witness the parting of Pericles and Cleon, 
ere the dumbshow ceases, and the actor resumes 
his explanations. He declares that this letter, for- 



328 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

warded by Helicanus, reports that Antiochus sent 
a messenger to Tyre to murder Pericles, and warns 
him not to linger long at Tarsus lest another 
assassin be despatched thither- to slay him. It is on 
account of this caution that Pericles sails away and 
soon finds himself in great peril at sea. 

When the curtain next rises, we behold a beach 
near Pentapolis, just as Pericles has been cast there 
by the waves, which he reviles for swallowing up his 
ship and companions. While he is bidding them 
cease raging, since they have shown their power by 
depriving a prince of all he owns, three fishermen 
come forward to cast their nets. They are gossiping 
about their occupations and the storm, during which 
many lives were evidently lost, for distressing cries 
were repeatedly heard. They describe the ,signs 
which herald a great tempest, and mention the fact 
that big fishes live on small ones, just as misers 
thrive on the spoils of others, until Pericles, who 
is hiding in the rocks near by, learns from their 
conversation that he has been cast on the shores of 
Simonides, the most peaceful and benevolent of 
monarchs. 

After commenting upon the labours of these men 
and their shrewd wit, Pericles suddenly emerges 
from his hiding-place, and advancing toward them, 
wishes them peace and prosperity. Amazed at the 
sight of a stranger, the fishermen enquire whence he 
came, and on hearing he has been shipwrecked, offer 
all manner of assistance. They feel sure, however, 
that unless he is expert at their trade, he will never 
be able to make a living here. Still, because Pericles 



Pericles 329 

seems cold and hungry, they charitably promise him 
food and raiment, ere two of them go oif* to draw 
up their nets, while the third lingers behind to give 
the stranger further information in regard to the 
country and its king. Among other interesting items, 
the fisherman mentions that Simonides' daughter, 
Thaisa, will celebrate her birthday on the morrow, 
and that many princes and knights have ' come 
from all parts of the world to just and tourney 
for her love.' 

Hearing this, Pericles, — who is an adept in all 
chivalric games, — fervently wishes he had saved his 
armour, at least, so he might try his luck in this 
tournament. At that moment, the two fishermen 
loudly call for help, as their net proves too heavy to 
haul in, and unexpectedly find, caught in its meshes, 
the very armour Pericles mourns. Hailing this suit 
with rapture, Pericles explains to the men under 
what circumstances it was given to him; how lost; 
and adds that his shipwreck is now no ill since he 
has here his ' father's gift in's will ! ' He, therefore, 
begs the armour from the fishermen, saying he will 
don it and try his luck; and, promising that if he 
succeeds thereby in improving his fortunes, he will 
reward them richly for their aid. The fishermen 
consent to his wishes, and Pericles rejoices that he 
still possesses a jewel of sufficient worth to secure 
him a horse, ere he gratefully accepts the offer of a 
pair of trousers from one fisherman, and the services 
of another as guide to court. 

We now behold the pavilion where the king, 
princess, and lords have come to view the tourna- 



33° Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

ment. After enquiring whether all are ready to 
begin the knightly game, Simonides gives the neces- 
sary signal, announcing that Thaisa will first pass 
in review all the candidates about to strive for her 
favour. The princess, who is very modest, chides 
her father for overpraising her in this speech, al-, 
though he proudly insists it is impossible to do so, 
ere he begs her to expound for his benefit the devices 
on each knight's shield. 

One champion after another now prances past 
the princess, holding aloft his shield for her inspec- 
tion, and she readily reads not only the owner's name 
and country, but interprets the meaning of his Latin 
device. Five knights have passed by, and the princess 
has cleverly translated all their mottoes, when last of 
all Pericles appears. His graceful bearing dis- 
tinguishes him amid the rest, and his device, a 
withered branch still green at the top, with the motto 
4 in that hope I live,' seems particularly appropriate, 
since all know he has lost everything at sea and 
hopes to mend his fortunes by triumphing in these 
games. The lords present, however, comment scorn- 
fully on the rustiness of his armour, and on his pre- 
sumption in daring to appear among so many famous 
and wealthy candidates. Hearing this, Simonides 
reminds Pericles' detractors that ' opinion's but a 
fool, that makes us scan the outward habit by the 
inward man,' ere he leads his daughter up to the 
gallery. There, a few moments later, loud cries 
proclaim that Pericles, ' the mean knight,' has pre- 
vailed over every foe and has reaped all the honours 
of the day! 




MARINA IN DANGER 

Boult " Come, mistress; come your ways with me." 

Mar. "Whither wilt thou have me?" 

Boult. "To take from you the jewe I you hold so dear." 



F Kirchbach 



Pericles, Prince of Tyre. Act 4, Scene 5. 



Pericles 331 

We next behold a hall of state, where Simonides, 
his daughter, and court are entertaining the cham- 
pions. After the king has addressed the assembled 
knights, the princess bestows upon the victor a 
crown, which he modestly assures her was won 
1 more by fortune, lady, than by merit.' Hearing 
this, the king insists it was no small feat to triumph 
over so many brave foes, and that Pericles has nobly 
earned the honour to sit beside his daughter. Wish- 
ing to show themselves true sportsmen, all the lords 
present declare ' we are gentlemen that neither in 
our hearts nor outward eyes envy the great nor do 
the low despise,' a courtesy for which Pericles re- 
turns hearty thanks. 

Meantime, the princess, who has been watching 
Pericles, murmurs in an aside that he is such ' a gal- 
lant gentleman ' that she has fallen deeply in love 
with him. Her father also seems to approve highly 
of the youth, while Pericles is impressed by Simon- 
ides' resemblance to his own father, who used to sit 
in similar state, and for whom he always felt great 
admiration and respect. After some drinking of 
healths, Simonides, becoming aware of the fact that 
the stranger is melancholy, bids his daughter chal- 
lenge him to drink. At first Thaisa demurs, think- 
ing this too bold a step for a maid to take, and 
whispering that the stranger ' may my proffer take 
for an offence, since men take women's gifts for im- 
pudence.' Still, urged by her father, she finally 
turns to Pericles, remarking her father wishes to 
drink his health and would fain know his name. 
After duly acknowledging the proffered courtesy, 



332 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

Pericles states he is a gentleman from Tyre, who 
seeking adventures, was shipwrecked on their coast. 
He conceals his title, however, for fear lest An- 
tiochus may still be pursuing him; but such is the 
distinction of his bearing that father and daughter 
seem as well pleased with him as if he had proclaimed 
his real rank. 

To divert him from his melancholy, the king now 
orders the knights to dance, and encourages Pericles 
to take part in the revels by treading a measure with 
the princess. Such grace does the stranger display 
in this exercise, too, that he wins high praise ere 
the company separates for the night, Simonides de- 
claring the time of rest has come, but that ' to- 
morrow all for speeding do their best.' 

We next behold a room in the governor's house 
at Tyre, where Helicanus is informing one of his 
friends how Antiochus and his daughter met due 
punishment for their heinous crime while riding to- 
gether in a chariot of inestimable value. We are 
briefly told that ' a fire from heaven came and 
shrivelled up their bodies,' leaving both corpses in 
such loathsome condition that no one was willing to 
approach to bury them. Such a doom seems fitting 
to the listener, who has barely expressed approval 
when sundry other lords come in. After the usual ex- 
change of civilities, these Tyrians inform Helicanus 
that, feeling sure their prince has perished, they 
have come to beg permission to seek for his remains, 
so they can bury them properly, ere they elect a new 
sovereign. They pronounce no one better fitted to 
govern than Helicanus, whom Pericles himself 



Pericles 333 

selected as his representative. When they unani- 
mously cry ' Live Helicanus,' he implores them to 
be patient for another twelve-month, so as to make 
sure poor Pericles has perished at sea and will never 
return. It is only after considerable demur that 
the lords accede to this delay, which the faithful 
Helicanus insists upon, for he is not at all anxious to 
supplant his master. This agreement reached, Heli- 
canus nobly concludes ' then you love us, we you, 
and we'll clasp hands: when peers thus knit, a king- 
dom ever stands/ 

We now return to Pentapolis, where Simonides 
enters a room in his palace, intently reading a letter, 
from which he glances up only to return the greet- 
ings of his knights. It is the day after the tourna- 
ment has ended, and he announces that Thaisa has 
decided to postpone marriage for another twelve- 
month, meantime denying herself to all her suitors. 
On learning they will not even be favoured with a 
glimpse of the beautiful princess during these long, 
weary months, the knights regretfully depart. When 
they have gone, Simonides reveals that he has re- 
sorted to this stratagem because his daughter in- 
forms him in a letter that she will either marry the 
stranger knight, or nevermore ' view nor day nor 
light.' Because her choice fully coincides with his 
own wishes, Simonides decides Thaisa's decision shall 
not long remain a secret, just as Pericles steps into 
the room. 

After a little talk in regard to some music with 
which Pericles favoured them on the previous even- 
ing, Simonides carelessly asks his opinion of his 



334 Stories of Shakespeare' *s Tragedies 

fair daughter? In return he receives a flattering 
reply, which causes him to rejoin that Thaisa thinks 
well enough of Pericles to wish to become his scholar. 
Because Pericles seems incredulous, Simonides shows 
4iim the princess' letter, which so amazes the prince 
that he wonders whether this is not some crafty device 
to entrap a distressed stranger. His fears seem to be 
confirmed when Simonides suddenly accuses him of 
having bewitched his daughter, an accusation he hotly 
refutes, saying he considers it base to use magic arts 
to win a maiden's heart ! When denounced as a vil- 
lain, traitor, and liar, Pericles haughtily rejoins his 
actions are as noble as his thoughts, ' that never 
relish'd of a base descent,' and asseverates he came 
to this court i for honour's cause,' as he haughtily 
offers to prove at the point of his sword! 

Seeing the princess enter just then, Pericles im- 
petuously implores her as she is as virtuous as fair, 
to state whether he ever tried to make love to her? 
When Thaisa rejoins that even if he had, no one 
would take offence at it, her father is secretly de- 
lighted, for he is more and more convinced the 
stranger is far nobler than he has confessed. He, 
therefore, invites Pericles to respond to the princess' 
wooing, makes them join hands, and bids them kiss 
each other, ere he proceeds to wish them joy. Such 
a consummation of his hopes proves so delightful to 
Pericles, that he fervently swears to love the princess 
1 even as my life my blood that fosters it,' and the 
scene closes with Simonides' formal announcement 
that the wedding will take place without further 
delay. 



Pericles 335 

Act III. The third act also opens with a pro- 
logue by the actor, who describes how the marriage 
feast being over, quiet reigns in the palace, where the 
married couple dwell happily for several months. 
Then, in dumbshow, we see Pericles and Simonides 
greeted by an ambassador from Tyre, who delivers 
a letter. After reading this missive, Pericles hands 
it over to his father-in-law, and receives the homage 
of the Tyrian lords. While he is doing so, his wife, 
Thaisa, enters, closely attended by a nurse, and 
when she too has perused the letter, betrays signs 
of keen joy. We next see her and Pericles taking 
affectionate leave of Simonides, ere they pass off the 
stage escorted by the Tyrian lords, and the nurse. 
This dumbshow finished, the actor resumes his ex- 
planations, stating how Helicanus, after careful 
search, has at last discovered Pericles, and in this let- 
ter announces to him the death of his foe, and sum- 
mons him to return to Tyre unless he wishes to for- 
feit his crown. For this reason Pericles decides to 
return home immediately, yet hesitates to expose his 
beloved wife to a rough sea-journey, since she is now 
in delicate health. Her entreaties, however, prevail 
over his fears, so the royal couple embark, Pericles 
fervently hoping the waters will be smooth so that 
they can land in Tyre before the critical moment 
comes. Instead of this, however, a terrible tempest 
overtakes his ship, and inspires poor Thaisa with 
such terror, that her babe comes into the world 
before its time. 

The rising curtain reveals this tossing ship, and 
we overhear the almost frantic Pericles calling alter- 



33 6 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

nately upon the god of the sea to abate his wrath, and 
upon the goddess of child-birth to watch over his 
beloved wife. While he is wildly praying, the nurse 
appears on deck with an infant, which she bids 
him take to his bosom as sole reminder of his dead 
queen! At first Pericles cannot realise his beloved 
wife has gone ; then he wails, ' O you gods ! why do 
you make us love your goodly gifts, and snatch them 
straight away? We here below recall not what we 
give, and therein may use honour with you.' The 
nurse, however, implores him to be manly for the 
helpless child's sake, words which touch unsuspected 
depths in Pericles' heart, for even while giving way 
to his grief, he fervently prays that his babe's life 
may be mild, although it has found in the world so 
rude a welcome. 

Just then two sailors appear, and Pericles enquires 
whether the storm will not soon abate, for he fears 
it may yet cost the life of the delicate babe as well as 
that of the mother. With true sailor superstition, 
these men no sooner hear the queen is dead than they 
fancy it is the presence of her corpse which is plac- 
ing their lives in peril. They, therefore, insist that 
Pericles place her in a coffin and cast her overboard ! 
Although loath to part so soon with Thaisa's be- 
loved remains, Pericles feels compelled to yield to 
such superstitious terrors. He, therefore, calls for 
the coffin always carried on board ship, and gives 
orders that his wife be placed in it, enveloped in a 
white satin cerecloth. He also adds some jewels 
and a letter, which he writes himself, wherein he 
implores the finder for charity's sake to give this 



Pericles 337 

corpse a suitable burial. After a tender leave-taking 
of the remains which are to be cast into the sea, 
Pericles decides that instead of pursuing their jour- 
ney to Tyre, they will land at Tarsus, to secure 
Cleon's care for the delicate babe. 

The next scene is played at Ephesus, in the house 
of the physician Cerimon, who is comforting some 
persons who have suffered shipwreck in this fright- 
ful storm. He and his attendants, while dealing out 
food and medicine to those who come in quest of 
them, converse with some gentlemen, who comment 
upon the fury of the storm, and compliment Cerimon 
on the skill which has enabled him to save so many 
lives. The physician assures them his calling brings 
its own reward, since there is ' more content in course 
of true delight than to be thirsty after tottering 
honour, or tie my treasure up in silken bags, to 
please the fool and death.' 

While they are still talking, servants stagger in 
with a huge chest, reporting with excitement that the 
biggest wave they ever saw cast it at their feet, and 
that it must contain great treasures. The gentle- 
men, however, opine it looks more like a coffin, for 
it is carefully sealed and closed. In the physician's 
presence it is now opened, and he is surprised to be 
greeted by a strong odour of spices and to discover 
therein a corpse carefully wrapped in a satin cere- 
cloth. On discovering the jewels and paper Ceri- 
mon quickly reads Pericles' heart-broken appeal, ex- 
claiming that the writer must have had a ' heart 
that even cracks for woe ! ' Then, true to his call- 
ing, he examines the corpse, only to discover that 



338 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

life is still lingering within it, for the lady is in a 
state of coma and not dead. As he concludes she has 
not been more than five hours in this condition, and 
knows of cases which recovered after nine, he im- 
mediately sets to work to revive her. Friction, heat, 
and all the applications skill can suggest are now 
brought into play, while soft music is played so that 
when the patient rouses she will be reassured by 
sweet sounds. After a period of suspense, during 
which nothing is heard save breathless exclamations, 
interrupted by the physician's curt, pertinent orders, 
the lady comes to life again, asking faintly where she 
is and where is her lord? To prevent her being 
startled, — for a relapse would mean death, — Ceri- 
mon has her borne into a neighbouring chamber, 
fervently praying the god of medicine to guide his 
efforts to save her. 

The curtain next rises on Tarsus, where Pericles 
is confiding his little daughter and her nurse, — at 
the end of a twelve months' sojourn, — to the kind 
care of Cleon and Dionyza, bidding them care for 
his child as tenderly as for their own. Mindful of 
the benefits he has conferred upon them and their 
people, Cleon rejoins that even should they be in- 
clined to neglect Marina, — thus called because born 
at sea, — the people of Tarsus would insist upon their 
doing their duty to the child of their benefactor. 
It is only because Tyre will be lost unless he re- 
turns there, that Pericles now departs, but he vows 
to let his hair grow until he sees his daughter again, 
or until she is safely married. With endless assur- 
ances of fidelity on the part of Cleon and Dionyza, 



Pericles 339 

to whom he entrusts his babe and her nurse, Pericles 
finally departs. 

We are again transferred to Cerimon's house, just 
after the complete recovery of Thaisa, while he is 
relating to her in what state she was found, and 
exhibiting Pericles' letter. All Thaisa can remember 
is a terrible storm and her sudden illness, but, sure 
never to see her husband again, — for she deems he 
must have perished, — she decides to assume the duties 
and costume of a Vestal, spend the rest of her life in 
retirement, ' and never more have joy.' This resolu- 
tion is approved by Cerimon, who knows of a fane 
near by, where his own niece can attend her. The 
curtain falls while Thaisa is still thanking her res- 
cuer for his kind efforts in her behalf, and assuring 
him ' my good will is great.' 

Act IV. The fourth act also opens with a pro- 
logue by the actor, describing how Pericles dwelt 
sorrowfully at Tyre, while his wife served as a Ves- 
tal in the temple, and his daughter was being 
trained at Tarsus as befitted her position in life. By 
the time Marina is fourteen ' she hath gain'd of edu- 
cation all the grace, which makes her both the heart 
and place of general wonder.' Such is her talent 
that she far outshines her foster-sister, the child of 
Cleon and Dionyza, for which reason the latter be- 
comes so bitterly jealous of her that she determines 
to injure her. Because every one admires the peerless 
Marina, and pays no heed whatever to her insig- 
nificant daughter, Dionyza decides that, since the 
nurse is dead, she must get rid of the little princess. 

When the curtain rises, we behold an open place 



340 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

near the seashore, where Dionyza is bargaining with 
a murderer, and reminding him how one blow, — ■ 
which will never be known, — will settle the whole 
question. She fears, however, that his heart may 
fail him, for she sternly warns him ' let not con- 
science, which is but cold, inflaming love i' thy 
bosom, inflame too nicely; nor let pity, which even 
women have cast off, melt thee, but be a soldier to 
thy purpose.' These words nerve the murderer to 
accept this loathsome task, and he has barely said 
so when Marina comes upon the scene, carrying 
flowers to strew upon the grave of the nurse for 
whom she mourns in touching grief ! She has vowed 
to keep this grave carpeted with flowers in memory 
of all her nurse did for her, ever since she took her 
from her dying mother on shipboard, and moans 
that ' this world to me is like a lasting storm, 
whirring me from my friends.' 

Seeing Marina appear, Dionyza enquires why her 
daughter is not with her; then, pretending to con- 
sider her pale, sends her off to walk on the seashore 
with the murderer, Leonine, declaring exercise will 
cause her to appear to better advantage when her 
father comes to get her. After a little idle conver- 
sation with her escort in regard to the wind and 
the tempestuous sea, — with sundry touching reminis- 
cences of her nurse's descriptions of the stormy night 
when she was born, — Marina is startled when 
Leonine suddenly bids her say her prayers for he is 
going to kill her! This rough order terrifies poor 
Marina, who pleads that she never hurt anything in 
her life, and declares that when she once accidentally 



Pericles 341 

trod upon a worm she shed tears about it. Not- 
withstanding her entreaties, Leonine is about to 
execute Dionyza's orders, when pirates suddenly ap- 
pear and drive him away. 

On perceiving a beautiful girl, these pirates de- 
cide to carry her off and sell her as a slave, vowing 
the money so obtained will be equally divided among 
them. Only after they have gone with their prey, 
does Leonine return, and, seeing their boat vanish 
in the distance, vows he will swear that he threw 
Marina into the sea. 

The next scene is played in a house of ill-fame at 
Mitylene, where, after considerable dialogue in re- 
gard to their loathsome business, the owners of the 
place conclude they had better purchase another girl. 
One of their number is, therefore, despatched to the 
slave-market, whence he soon returns with the pi- 
rates, who offer Marina for sale. Such is her beauty 
that she is immediately purchased and entrusted to 
the care of the pander's wife. Realising suddenly 
where she is, Marina bitterly regrets Leonine could 
not fulfil his evil purpose ere the pirates seized her, 
or that the latter did not cast her into the sea to 
join her dead mother! When the rough inmates of 
this place try to cheer her, their remarks fill her 
with such loathing that she promises herself, ' if 
fires be hot, knives sharp, or waters deep, untied 
I still my virgin knot will keep.' Meantime, her ar- 
rival is being diligently advertised, her owners rejoice 
to hear many patrons are most anxious to see her, 
and foresee her presence will bring them increased 
gains. 



342 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

The curtain next rises in Tarsus, where Cleon is 
reproaching his wife and the murderer for what 
they have done, and wondering what they shall 
say when Pericles comes to claim his child. This 
does not trouble Dionyza, who answers they will 
describe how Marina died and will take her father 
to the tomb they are going to erect in her memory! 
All she has done seems justifiable, because Marina so 
far outshone her own offspring that the latter had 
no chance to secure any attention as long as her 
companion was near. 

In the next scene, an actor, standing before Ma- 
rina's monument at Tarsus, explains under what cir- 
circumstances it has been erected, and how Pericles is 
even now coming to claim his child. In dumbshow 
we next behold the arrival of Pericles and of his 
train, and the exhibition of Marina's monument. 
After lamenting and donning sackcloth, Pericles de- 
parts from Tarsus, angry at fate, and the actor reads 
aloud the lying inscription stating how Marina, 
daughter of the king of Tyre, born at sea, is buried 
close beside its waves! He adds that although 
Pericles, deeming his daughter dead, intends to 
mourn her forever, she is now in Mitylene, which 
we next behold. 

Several gentlemen are seen issuing from the house 
where Marina is detained, vowing never have such ex- 
periences befallen them, for they have been preached 
at to such good effect in this place that they come 
away resolved to lead virtuous lives hereafter. The 
owners of the house are indignant, however, that 
Marina's innocent talk should convert their clients, 



Pericles 343 

and when a new one enters, hope he will prove more 
successful than his predecessors, although they opine 
Marina * would make a Puritan of the devil ! ' The 
newcomer is now introduced to Marina, whose re- 
fined speech, modesty, gentleness, and virtue soon 
convince him that she can have come here only by 
accident. In fact, Lysimachus, governor of Mitylene, 
is so impressed, that he finally cries, ' thou art a piece 
of virtue, and I doubt not but thy training has been 
noble,' and urges her to ' persever in that clear way 
thou goest, and the gods strengthen thee ! ' After 
giving Marina quite a sum of money, Lysimachus, 
too, departs. 

The owner of the house is about to resort to force 
in his wrath, when Marina, using the money the 
governor gave her, bribes him to listen to her, and 
urges him to practise any trade in preference to this. 
She explains how her early training has made her an 
expert in music, embroidery, dancing, and all the 
fine arts, and assures him, if he will only hire her 
out in the capacity of teacher, he can earn far more 
than in any other way. Such is her eloquence, that 
Marina finally wrings from this wretch a promise 
to place her, unmolested, among honest people, where 
she can carry out this programme and enrich him 
with the money she earns. 

Act V. The fifth act opens with a prologue by 
the actor, stating how Marina, having escaped from 
this evil den, lacks not pupils of 'noble race, who 
pour their bounty on her/ Her fame in town 
constantly increases, and Lysimachus rejoices to 
think she has proved so successful, One day, while 



344 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

she and her pupils are celebrating a festival on the 
shore, her father's vessel anchors in Mitylene har- 
bour, where, as in duty bound, Lysimachus soon 
appears to welcome the travellers. 

As the curtain rises, we behold the deck of the 
Tyrian ship, where Pericles is lying in melancholy 
silence beneath an awning, for he has not spoken 
a word since hearing of his daughter's death. A 
Mitylene sailor, boarding the ship, enquires of one 
of the Tyrians for the master of the ship, whereupon 
Helicanus steps forward to answer in Pericles' 
name. While some conversation passes between 
them, Lysimachus boards the vessel, and greeting 
Helicanus, is duly thanked for his courtesy. After 
stating he is governor of the town, Lysimachus en- 
quires who the owner of the vessel may be, and is 
surprised to learn it belongs to Pericles, King of 
Tyre, who is wrapped in such deep grief that he has 
not spoken for the past three months! In reply to 
his query in regard to the cause of this sorrow, 
Helicanus explains it is due to the loss of a beloved 
daughter and wife, and adds that, even if ushered 
into the king's presence, Lysimachus could not obtain 
a word. Anxious to make the attempt, Lysimachus 
has himself conducted beneath the awning, where, 
seeing he can gain no attention, he remarks that 
Pericles might be charmed into speech by a lovely 
maiden in Mitylene, who can beguile the most morose 
of men. Deeming it wise to try every means to 
effect a cure, Helicanus begs Lysimachus to send for 
this wonderful girl. 

While one of the governor's servants goes in quest 



Pericles 345 

of Marina, Helicanus explains that they are anxious 
to renew their stores, and offers to pay lavishly for 
supplies. Just as the conversation between Lysim- 
achus and Helicanus draws to a close, the page 
returns with Marina and a female companion, both 
of whom are courteously greeted by Lysimachus. 
He then implores Marina to employ all her skill to 
rouse an august traveller from his melancholy, and 
noticing Helicanus' admiration, assures him he would 
fain marry her, for 'she's such a one, that, were I 
well assured came of a gentle kind, and noble 
stock, I'ld wish no better choice, and think me 
rarely wed.' 

On condition she and her maid may go into 
Pericles' presence together, Marina undertakes this 
novel task, and no sooner arrives under the awning, 
than she begins to sing. Watching from a distance, 
the rest notice that Pericles pays no heed to the 
music, and that Marina, becoming aware of this, be- 
gins to speak gently to him, for a mysterious voice 
urges her to use all her arts in behalf of this sufferer. 
Hearing the gentle stranger murmur she has endured 
griefs which would probably equal his, could they be 
measured, Pericles is so startled that he demands 
what she means ? He passionately adds, ' tell thy 
story; if thine consider'd prove the thousandth part 
of my endurance, thou art a man, and I have suffer'd 
like a girl.' Only then does he look closely at her, 
and is startled by her great resemblance to his dead 
wife. In his surprise he comments that he beholds 
the same square brow, the same tall stature, the 
same willowy slenderness, and abruptly asks the 



346 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 

strange maiden on what shore she was born. When 
Marina softly rejoins she was not born on any shore, 
and that, were she to relate her history, ' it wOuld 
seem like lies disdain'd in the reporting,' he assures 
her he will credit whatever she says, and again urges 
her to speak. 

A moment later, when he hears her name is 
Marina, Pericles gives such a start that she pauses 
abruptly, and only after some encouragement ven- 
tures to continue her tale. She then reveals that 
she is daughter of a king, who named her thus 
because she was born at sea, little suspecting why 
Pericles' agitation constantly increases. .When she 
mentions her nurse's name, however, he agonisingly 
bids her pause, as he cannot endure any more, for 
he remembers only too vividly the place where his 
daughter lies buried! After a while, however, he 
implores her to go on, and she explains how Cleon 
and his wicked wife sought to murder her, how cruel 
pirates rescued her, and is surprised to see the stran- 
ger's tears flow when she calls herself the daughter 
of ' good King Pericles,' should he still be alive ! 
In his rapture, Pericles loudly calls for Helicanus, 
bidding him strike him or hurt him in some way, 
' lest this great sea of joys rushing upon me o'erbear 
the shores of my mortality, and drown me with 
sweetness.' 

Then he blurts out the glad tidings that the 
maiden, who has hitherto kept her origin secret, is 
his own daughter. As sole additional proof of her 
identity, he bids Marina give her mothers name, and 
after rapturously embracing her, declares he no 



Pericles 347 

longer has cause to mourn, but will immediately don 
fresh garments. Then, he warmly greets the gov- 
ernor, heartily thanking him for having been kind to 
Marina. This recognition over, Pericles suddenly 
hears music, which none of the rest can descry, but 
which he poetically terms ' the music of the spheres.' 
It seems to have a peculiarly lulling effect upon him, 
for he soon sinks back asleep, and Lysimachus sug- 
gesting that this slumber may complete his cure, all 
present let him rest in peace. 

When all have withdrawn, Diana appears to 
Pericles in a vision, bidding him visit her temple at 
Ephesus, and return thanks before her altar, by 
relating aloud the story of his wife's tragic death 
and of his daughter's recovery. She vows that if 
he does so he will be happy, but if he does not he 
will live for ever after in woe! 

Just as Diana departs, Pericles awakens, and Heli- 
canus, Lysimachus, and the rest, rejoining him, are 
told that, instead of going first to Tarsus to punish 
Cleon, they will sail directly to Ephesus to fulfil 
divine commands. Then Pericles accepts Lysi- 
machus' invitation to step ashore, assuring the gov- 
ernor when he hints he has a boon to ask, that, after 
hearing how nobly he has behaved toward Marina, 
he will refuse him nothing, not even her hand! 

In the next scene, the actor warns us the story 
is nearing its end, for after being entertained by 
Lysimachus, who has been betrothed to Marina, the 
travellers are about to enter Diana's temple, where, 
after the goddess' orders have been fulfilled, the mar- 
riage will take place. 



348 Stories of Shakespeare' s Tragedies 

As the curtain rises, we behold the temple of 
Diana, with the high priestess Thaisa, standing by 
the altar with her attendants, while Cerimon and 
other Ephesians appear among the audience, Next 
Pericles enters, followed by his train, and after 
hailing the goddess, proclaims he is Pericles, King 
of Tyre, who wed abroad fair Thaisa, a lady who 
died in child-bed at sea, leaving a daughter who 
still wears Diana's livery. This daughter, after 
escaping murder at her foster parents' hands was 
brought to Mitylene, where she made herself known 
to her father. The priestess, who recognised her 
husband the moment he entered, now sinks down in 
a swoon, whereupon the physician, hurrying forward, 
reveals to Pericles that she is his wife! The King 
of Tyre has difficulty in crediting this statement, 
having thrown the beloved corpse into a raging sea 
with his own hands. But when Cerimon relates 
how the chest was cast ashore, and how on opening 
it, he found letter and jewels, and was able to 
restore Thaisa to life, Pericles begins to believe it 
may be true. He is just asking to see the jewels, 
when Thaisa recovering, addresses him. The sound 
of her beloved voice, and the fact that she exclaims 
the ring he wears was given to him by her father at 
parting, causes him to cry with rapture, ' this, 
this ; no more, you gods ! your present kindness makes 
my past miseries sport,' while clasping his wife to his 
breast, saying, ' O, come, be buried a second time 
within these arms.' 

In her joy at finding her mother, Marina mutely 
kneels at her feet, and Pericles beholding her there, 



Pericles 349 

proudly introduces her to Thaisa as the babe born 
at sea, upon whom a mother's eyes never before 
rested! Then, enquiring whether his wife recalls 
the name of the friend who governed Tyre during 
his absence, Pericles presents the worthy Helicanus. 
A moment later, in reply to eager questions how she 
was saved, Thaisa reveals how Cerimon rescued her, 
while the doctor promises to produce all the objects 
found in her coffin. Turning to the altar, Pericles 
now gives fervent thanks for the vision vouchsafed 
him, and seeing no further cause for delay, informs 
his wife his daughter will here marry Lysimachus. 
In honour of this festival he proposes to shear off 
the luxuriant hair and beard he has allowed to 
grow during long years of mourning, for he now has 
no cause for anything save rejoicing, although the 
aged Simonides is dead. 

The epilogue is also recited by the actor, who 
states how, in the course of this play, poetic justice 
has been meted out; the criminals having suffered 
the penalty of their crimes, and Pericles and his 
family having, notwithstanding contrary fortunes, 
been ' led on by heaven, and crown'd with joy at 
last.' He quotes Helicanus as an emblem of truth, 
of faith, and of loyalty, and Cerimon as a model of 
' the worth that learned charity aye wears,' ere he 
adds that Cleon and his wife, in punishment for 
their villainy, were burned in their palace. The play 
concludes with the actor's valediction 'so, on your 
patience evermore attending, new joy wait on you! 
Here our play has ending.' 



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